


The Girl Without a Name

by copperleaves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Brainwashed Castiel, F/M, Food Sex, Soldier Castiel, Suicide Attempt, repentant castiel, roadtrip with cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: Out of Purgatory but with still so much to atone for, Castiel seeks out someone he's wronged in an attempt to make things right. But if she won't even trust him with her name, what hope does he have? It turns out an angel has a great deal to learn about both trust and atonement.





	1. Atonement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fic 4 years ago after a LONG break from fic writing. I posted it on ff.net, but never here. I figured I should, because while it moves a little too fast, it has its moments.

**It seems that all my bridges have been burnt**  
**But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.**  
**It's not the long walk home that will change this heart,**  
**But the welcome I receive with the restart.**  
Mumford and Sons, "Roll Away Your Stone"

He couldn't recall his creation.

To a human that wasn't anything odd, but to an angel it was an anomaly. Most of his kind could remember their first breath. The first thing their eyes beheld. The first sound they heard.

Castiel wasn't that sort of angel.

He didn't know why. Perhaps he'd spent too long among the humans. His brethren had often said he seemed more human than angelic, even in the days before his rebellion. The days before…

He had rebelled. He had made a deal with the Lord of Hell. He had killed his kin. He had suffered mightily for it, perhaps less suffering than he deserved considering his crimes. And now…? Now he was out of Purgatory and free to wander the earth, but barred from Heaven. For a time he'd thought he'd become a Hunter like Sam and Dean, but he'd overlooked a key component to Hunting.

It involved a damn lot of killing, and even though he was over his bee-watching phase, he still didn't relish bloodshed. Purgatory had been like a cleansing flame, purging the last of Lucifer's madness from him and leaving him honed to a keen edge. He felt new, renewed, but not…bloodthirsty. He wanted to be an angel again. Not a mindless automaton who followed orders without question, but rather a creature of great power and great compassion. An angel of the Lord.

So. Out of Purgatory, punishment complete? Still so much to atone for.

Castiel couldn't recall his creation, it was true. He had no memory of his first breath, or even his second. But he knew the name of every human whose death he had caused. He remembered every crime against humanity he had committed. He couldn't undo the things he had done. He couldn't bring the dead back to life.

He could stop a downward spiral his actions had started. He could set a once-promising life back on its old path. He thought maybe if he helped this woman…this one woman whose life had once seemed so charmed, but who now ran as far and as fast as she could from demons both literal and figurative, then maybe he could make the first true steps toward atonement. He was the reason for her life's dark twists, and he wanted to do what he could to make it right.

Dean had—what was the expression?—laughed his ass off when Cas told him.

"You're gonna try to pass as human so you can meet some girl and, what…save her? From herself?" he said, wiping tears from his eyes as he pulled a beer from the cooler at his feet and popped the top.

Castiel gritted his teeth in frustration. Sometimes Dean's flippant attitude was trying, especially when he used it as a cover for something else. "Yes, Dean. From herself. From the choices she's made. From some of the enemies those choices have earned her."

"There are some people out there who don't wanna be saved. You know that, right?"

Unbeknownst to him, Cas' dark eyes had taken on that far away look they got when he was "being all angel-y" (as Dean put it) and Dean knew there'd be no talking him out of it. "I don't believe that's the case this time," he said. "And I believe I owe it to her to try."

Dean drank his beer and considered. "Let me get this straight. You destroyed the church her family was in while you were on your God bender, right?"

"Yes," he said. His eyes flicked briefly to Dean's and away again.

"Before that this girl was Little Miss Sunshine. After that, not so much. You think it's your fault."

"There is every indication that her life would have continued on its destined course if her family hadn't been killed. If I hadn't killed them. Yes."

" _Destined course_?" He snorted. "Come on, Cas. You know how I feel about that destiny bullshit. Maybe this girl was on the verge of a major crash and burn anyway, and it was just bad timing."

He hesitated. "That is possible, but I don't think so. And besides, isn't part of what you do helping people? She needs help. I'm prepared to offer it."

Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He couldn't really think of a good argument against Cas' plan, except that he just didn't think it would work. What woman in her right mind would give a cross-country ride to a random stranger? Especially a stranger as strange as Cas? He let out a sigh. "You're gonna need some clothes. And a bag. No one travels with one suit and no bag."

He looked down, perplexed. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing, Cas, if you're a traveling salesman or a serial killer. You need clothes. Different clothes every day, and something warmer than that coat, because it's cold as balls out here and you're dressed for a springtime nerd convention in Vermont. Come on. We've got a lot of work to do if you're gonna pull this off."

And that was how the angel Castiel (dressed in a dark blue sweater and jeans, thank you) found himself in a seedy truck stop on a cold November morning pretending to drink coffee from a chipped mug when a tall, dark haired young woman breezed through the door and approached his table with a smile that hid a thousand secrets.

* * *

Later she couldn't have said why she sat down across that table from him. She'd never done anything like it before, and she couldn't imagine she ever would again. The restaurant was crowded, true, and like she told him at the time, the guys at the bar were pretty skeevy looking…but still.

There were other restaurants. Other stops along the road. She could have gotten her food to go and eaten in the car. She'd done it often enough. What on earth had possessed her to sit down with a complete stranger and start babbling away like an idiot? She wasn't that type of person. Never had been.

She felt like she was watching herself on a projection screen as she crossed the tiny, greasy space and smiled down at him. He looked up at her with a befuddled expression in midnight blue eyes.

"Weird, right?" she said as she slid into the booth opposite. "I mean, who does this? But it's super busy in here. The only empty seats are over there at the bar, and those guys are giving me the creeper eye. You know the look." She demonstrated, but he only looked back at her, nonplussed. She shrugged. "Did you already eat? That's cool. If you need to go or whatever, feel free. No need to hang out on my account."

"No," he said, speaking for the first time, "I haven't eaten." She thought he might say more, but he hesitated, frowned, and went quiet.

"Oh. Well, you should. Breakfast's the most important meal of the day, you know." The waitress arrived and she ordered a ham and cheese omelette with toast and hashbrowns and a glass of orange juice. He, looking more confused than ever, said he'd have the same.

She flashed him a smile and pulled a paperback from the bag at her side. He didn't seem inclined to chitchat, and now that her initial rush of madness had passed, she was mortified that she'd sat down at all. She hid behind her book and tried to peek at him from behind its pages without being too obvious about it.

He was cute for sure. Not in a flashy way, but subtly so, and she didn't think it was his looks that had prompted her rash behavior. His deep blue eyes were hooded, his hair coal black and slightly wild. He hadn't shaved in a few days and it suited him. He was average build, probably in his mid-thirties…and judging by the giant duffle shoved in beside him, someone on the move.

He hadn't asked her name. He hadn't asked anything at all. She liked that. Her presence—and her silence—didn't seem to make him uncomfortable, something else she liked. He sipped his coffee and watched the people with quiet fascination until she realized his eyes had flicked to her and she'd been caught staring. She flushed. He didn't notice.

"What are you reading?" he said.

His voice was deep, deeper than she would have expected, and it had a roughness to it. He looked a little like a hippy, but he didn't sound like one. "Dante," she said.

His mouth twitched.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just…ironic."

"Have you read it?"

He looked away, but before he did she caught something in his eyes, something…old? And weary. "You could say that," he said in a tired voice.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the waitress arrived with their food and she was distracted for a while. He watched her eat while he barely picked at his food. She washed down a bite of egg and ham with a sip of juice and grinned at him. "Not hungry after all?"

"I don't usually eat breakfast."

"Stick with me, kid," she said with a wink, "and we'll fix that lickity split."

His brow creased, but he said nothing. It almost seemed, she thought, as though English weren't his first language, and he was struggling with her colloquialisms. But he didn't have any sort of accent, so surely that wasn't it.

She drank the last of her juice and crunched through the final bites of toast. Slid the marker into her book and tucked it back in her bag. "Well. It's been…enlightening…but I should get back on the road."

She slid from the booth and grabbed both checks off the table. He reached for her hand, but she jerked it back before he could touch her. "To say thanks. For the company. For putting up with me." She shrugged, feeling awkward. "Don't make it weird. It's just breakfast." Her smile was tremulous. "And you hardly ate anything anyway. Seems silly you should pay for food you didn't even eat."

He stared up at her and she felt a sudden swoop of vertigo. His face was young, but his eyes…! Her fingers trembled as she brushed strands of long brown hair away from her face. "I should…I should go," she said. Her voice was so quiet she was surprised he could hear it at all, but he nodded.

"If you're going east, I could use a ride. If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

She almost laughed aloud. Was he nuts? It was one thing to sit down and have breakfast with him, but to offer him a ride? A complete stranger? Yeah, he was cute, but so was Ted Bundy back in the day…before everyone knew about the whole murderer-rapist-necrophiliac thing. This guy could have anything in that giant bag. A baseball bat. A rape kit. A body. Plenty of empty space so he could stash  _her_  body.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think that's a great idea. But, hey, good luck with your trip." She smiled again, turned, and disappeared into the bustle of the still-crowded restaurant.

He sat back and waited. He was much older than his face, and all those years had taught him patience. He had chosen this cafe because he'd known she would come here, and he knew this was the place. He knew she would say yes. He smiled a little. Lifted his bag and stood. He dropped a few dollars onto the table (money, he'd found, was surprisingly easy to come by) and strolled from the cafe.

The angel Castiel was on a mission, the girl-without-a-name was integral to it, and failure was not an option.

* * *

"Dammit! Come on, sweetheart, don't do this to me now!"

She had the hood up on a gray Honda Civic and she was talking to it like a sentient being. He smiled, because she reminded him of Dean with the Impala, but also because the universe had a twisted sense of humor. He cleared his throat and she turned around with a distracted frown that cleared when she recognized him.

"Oh, it's you. You aren't responsible for this, are you? Some sort of plot to keep me here? Didn't Ted Bundy do something similar to lure his victims?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Do you know anything about cars?"

"A little. I have a friend who—"

"Perfect. Get over here. I think it's the thingie, but the doohickey won't whatchamacallit. Don't look at me like that. Just because I don't know what stuff's  _called_  doesn't mean I don't know anything. Just undo that. It's stuck and I can't get it."

She pointed and he did as she directed and after several minutes the car was purring like a kitten. She crowed in triumph and petted the hood like it  _was_  a kitten. "Good boy! That's a good boy. I used to watch my brother work on cars all the time. He'd never explain what he was doing, so I never got the names of anything, but, ya know…I followed along." She shrugged and tossed him a rag for his hands. "I guess I owe you that ride now."

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable," he said.

"Ah, Mr. Chivalry. Rescues the damsel and makes no demands in return. That makes me feel shitty."

"That wasn't my intention."

"No," she said. "It wouldn't be."

She leaned back against the car and shivered. The temperature had dropped while they worked and a bitter wind had sprung up from nowhere. It was cold and getting colder, and she had a funny sense that he didn't really have anywhere else to go. Not that he was homeless, exactly…just that  _she_ , somehow, was his destination. Nuts.

She zipped her coat and reached in the open window to turn the heat up. "Let's make a decision quick. I'm freezing my ass off out here."

He stepped closer, and she lifted her chin to look up at him. His face was serious, and she wondered what happened to it when he smiled. "You have good instincts about people," he said.

She looked away with a frown. "I used to," she said. Shook her head like she was shaking off a bad memory. "Yeah," she said, squaring her jaw. "I guess so."

"What do your instincts say about me?"

"You're more than what you seem."

His brows flicked upward, barely surprised. "Am I dangerous?"

"Extremely."

He paused, taken aback. "To you?"

"No," she said after a moment. "I don't think so."

"Well, then," he said.

She studied him through dark, narrowed eyes. Finally she leaned forward and sniffed. "There's no smoking allowed in my car, zero exceptions, but it doesn't seem like that'll be a problem."

"I…no. I don't smoke."

"Good. You can probably find a place for your bag in the trunk. Driver is the DJ, but passenger gets veto power. If you've gotta pee, do it now. We're outta here in ten minutes."

"I have no biological needs at this time," he said, and she laughed before she could stop herself.

"Well, I guess that covers it. Stow your stuff and let's hit it."

He managed to wedge his duffle in among her things in the trunk, and as he came around to the car's passenger side, he found her still standing at the driver's door, watching him. "You haven't asked my name or where I'm going," he said across the roof.

"You haven't asked my name or where I'm going," she echoed.

"Are you going east?"

"Yes."

"That's all I need to know."

"Good," she said. "Get in."


	2. The Taste of Honey

**I miss that feeling of feeling.**  
The Avett Brothers, "Tin Man"

It wasn't that he had assumed the task he'd set himself would be simple. His experiences with Dean and Sam had taught him that interactions with humans were never simple. They rarely did as you expected and even more rarely did as you would have them do. They were contrary and stubborn and infuriating. Their limited view of the universe left them with minds so small but egos so big…well. It was impossible to put into words, really.

All of this he knew—or thought he knew—from his time on Earth. What he hadn't known was that all the time in the world with the Winchesters could never have prepared him for… _her_. She was a completely different sort of creature. It had only been one day, but already any of the frustration he'd previously felt toward a human was a paltry and pitiful thing compared to what he felt now.

She was impossible.

First, she wouldn't tell him her name. He  _knew_  her name, of course. He knew everything about her. He knew where she was going. Where she came from. He knew about the brother who fixed cars. He knew what had her looking over her shoulder like a startled doe every time they stopped for more than a few minutes. He knew the exact moment she had stepped off the path she'd been on and down a darker, more twisted one. And he knew why she'd done it.

None of that was the point. It's true he wasn't very good with people, but he'd finally figured out that they didn't like it when an angel dumped all their deepest, darkest secrets into their laps. That was the lesson he'd taken away from the brothel—once Dean had stopped laughing long enough to explain it to him. He wanted to help this woman, and the method he'd taken with the prostitute (Dean had told him he couldn't call them  _fallen women_ ) that night wasn't going to work here. It certainly hadn't worked  _there_.

Her music perplexed him. The words came fast, the metaphors like tiny bullets that whizzed past his head and left him dizzy. She laughed at his confusion and changed it to something he preferred, the old masters like Mozart or Bach. That soothed him, but it perplexed him further. She'd told him the driver picked the music—he'd understood that much—and she wouldn't let him drive. So why…?

She pretended not to notice when he didn't eat. When the biting cold didn't affect him. She altered her speech patterns to exclude references and metaphors that she knew would confuse him. She'd caught him talking to their hotel's cat this morning and had barely raised a brow.

Infuriating. Infuriating because she wasn't supposed to  _adapt_  to him. He was adapting to her, at least as well as he could. He was an angel attempting to pass as human, and it was rough going, especially after all he'd been through recently. She was taking all of his strangeness as though it were a matter of course, and nothing seemed to daunt her.

She wouldn't tell him her name. She had yet to ask him his. She refused to react to his otherness. Maybe he was on a fool's mission. Maybe there was nothing left of the woman he'd come to save.

He frowned and stared out the window. Handel's  _Water Music_  filled the small car and drowned out the road noise. The sky above them was darkening. Snow soon, he thought. Very soon.

If there was nothing left, why was she running?

He turned to look at her. There was a crease of concentration between her dark eyes. A stray shaft of sun fell across her face and highlighted the smattering of freckles over her nose. Flashed copper from her brows. Her hair was brown, but it was a lie, and her coppery brows were a giveaway she'd apparently forgotten. A chink in the armor of her disguise.

She pulled a pair of sunglasses from the center console and slid them on. Her eyes disappeared behind tinted glass and he sat back in his seat, disappointed. A moment later he leaned forward again to get another look at the sky. It definitely looked like snow. That sunbeam was the last they'd see in a while.

* * *

After hours of quiet, he was acting strange again. Stranger than usual, and that was saying something. She watched from the corner of her eye as he swiveled around in his seat. Peered out the windshield down the road. Craned his neck around to look behind them.

"Are you trying to practice car yoga, or is something wrong?"

He looked startled, like he'd forgotten she was there. "Ah. It's the weather," he said. "It's changing."

She leaned forward to gaze up at the lowering sky. "I don't know much about it, but kinda looks like snow to me. Snow in November." She shuddered. "I guess these were a bit premature." She pulled the sunglasses off and stowed them away.

It said something, some part of her noted, that she wasn't a bit surprised by his human barometer act. One day on the road and she was already taking his idiosyncrasies in stride. Well, witness a man actually attempt to carry on a conversation with a feral cat, and…

She let the thought trail away. It didn't matter. They weren't going to be together long enough for any of this to matter. He was a strange guy, and that was fine. She kind of liked his strangeness. It was an innocent strangeness, not a dark and twisted weirdness like she had started to become accustomed to in LA. She didn't want to think about LA. Wasn't she driving as far east as fast as she could so that she wouldn't have to think about LA? She glanced over her shoulder to set eyes on her bag. Still there. Still safe.

"We should stop," he said.

"Stop? What are you talking about? We're making good time."

He pointed toward a sign. "It says there's an overlook."

"An overlook of what? There's nothing but cows here."

"Something, apparently, or there wouldn't be an overlook. We can see the snow."

"There isn't any snow," she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"There will be."

"You seriously want to stop at a cow overlook?"

"I like cows. They're serene."

"I…" She laughed a little. "I guess I can't argue with that. Cow overlook it is."

Gravel crunched beneath the tires as she turned in, but from the parking lot scrubby trees obscured any sort of view. "We'll have to get out," he said.

"To see the cows."

"Yes," he said. "To see the cows."

"Right. Wait here while I get my coat."

He got out of the car and stood next to it while she added layers. A coat. Hat. Scarf. Gloves. She was from the South, and she hated this cold. One of the few things about LA that had suited her was the climate. At the last minute he remembered the coat Dean had insisted he buy. The cold didn't bother him, but he had to act like he at least noticed it.

They started up a path that turned surprisingly steep as they walked it, and just as she started to get winded (he didn't really notice things like steep paths, either) the trees cleared and the view swept out before them in a startling vista.

" _Oh_ ," she said in a little rush of air. "That's not cows."

He smiled, but she was too absorbed in the spectacle to notice. "Look," he said, pointing over her shoulder. "It's starting." The clouds moved closer, and as they did they brought a dancing veil of snow.

She laughed, a delighted, unfettered sound of pure joy and raised her hands toward it. "Ohh," she said again. Far to the west the sun broke free, and a thin snake of a river was turned to molten silver by its rays.

"Did you know this was here?" she said in a soft voice.

"I had an idea."

She turned toward him. Her smile was like a beacon, brighter than that far away sun. She watched the way the snowflakes danced in his dark blue eyes. Melted in his sooty hair. "Oh, damn," she said because she knew what was going to happen next and part of her regretted it and part of her didn't. Not even one tiny bit.

His face changed. He leaned closer. Their lips touched and he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Not because he didn't enjoy it. He enjoyed it very much. It was the second kiss of his life, and very different from the first. That was beside the point.

Shortly after that she did something with her tongue and he lost the ability to think coherently and he forgot why any of it was a mistake at all.

Kissing him was…well it was nice, of course. She had known it would be nice from the moment she set eyes on him. But there was something else. Something bedsides the warm softness of his mouth against hers. The gentle roughness of his slightly chapped lips. The scrape of his stubble across her cheek.

Beneath all of those things there was something…more. A hum. A tingle. A buzz. She felt like an idiot, and she knew she had to be imagining it, but…she pressed closer and the kiss deepened and she swore she felt the fine hairs along the back of her neck stand on end. He made a  _terribly_  interesting noise in the back of his throat, and she knew she had to stop now or she couldn't be held at all responsible for what might happen next.

She pulled back. Her breath fell away in a gasp. "Who  _are_  you?"

He blinked at her. His eyes were big and dark and dazed. She could drown in those eyes and might not regret that, either. "My friends call me Cas."

"Do you kiss all your friends like that, Cas?"

"No. Just two of them, so far."

She let out an ironic little laugh. "So far. I'll keep that in mind."

He might have said something further, but a sound distracted them both. The crunch-and-slide of footsteps on gravel. Their heads turned in near-identical swivels, but it was he who reacted first.

"We should go," he said.

"Probably just someone else out to enjoy the view," she said, but the tightness in her voice belied the light words. Her hands were still against his chest, and without her realizing it her fingers had made fists of his coat. He raised his own hands; carefully loosened her grip.

"We should go," he said again, his voice quieter, deeper.

She gave a jerky nod, and it wasn't until they were back at the car that she let go of his hand. The walk seemed to have cleared her head, and as they faced each other over the roof of the car, she offered him a sardonic smile. "Hey, so, about that…"

"About what?"

"The whole kiss thing…?"

His brow furrowed.

"It was just the moment, you know? The snow and the view and the sun." She shrugged. Smiled. "It could've happened to anyone."

"Anyone?" he said.

"Any good Samaritan traveler and her strangely attractive hitchhiker, yeah."

"I'm the strangely attractive hitchhiker in this scenario?"

"Um. By process of elimination, you would be, wouldn't you?"

"And you're the good Samaritan traveler?"

"Obviously. Not everyone would take you in. You're weird. This whole situation is weird."

He pondered this for a while, his deep blue gaze lost in the distance. Finally, "You find me attractive?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just get in the car, Cas. And no more cows, okay?"

"Very well," he said. "No more cows." He climbed in the car next to her with the sinking feeling that he'd done far more harm than good, and, more than that, that he'd never get the taste of her—honey and snow and sunshine—off his lips.

Infuriating woman.


	3. Old Games

**And when she stood, she stood tall.**  
 **She'll make a fool of you all.**  
The Lumineers, "Slow it Down"

They had stopped for the night at a small motel and were enjoying dinner in its coffee shop when her phone made a noise like a guitar strumming. A line appeared between her brows. It wasn't a good line. Cas wasn't great at reading faces, but he knew that much. He took a bite of his cheeseburger—sometimes he didn't just pretend—and watched as she read the message. Her expression clouded further, but she glanced up at him with perfect neutrality.

"Just some breaking news. Apparently Iran still hates us." She picked at her food for a few more moments before she gave up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm more tired than I figured. Long day on the road. You okay on your own?"

It was like her to ask, as though he weren't a stranger. She was thoughtful even when it pained her to be so. "Are you all right?" he said. "Has something upset you?" It was out an out-of-bounds thing to ask, but he could blame it on his social gracelessness.

The question gave her pause. It surprised her, coming from him, but she just flashed a thin smile and shook her head. "I'm fine. Just tired, like I said. Finish your burger. It's good to see you actually eating for once."

She reached into her bag for money, but he waved her away. "Go. I've got it."

"You sure?"

"Go. Sleep."

"Thanks. I owe you."

He knew she didn't mean for dinner, and he watched her go with a frown. He debated following her, but in the end he decided not to. The trust between them was fragile at best, and if she somehow caught him…well. He sighed down at his burger as he imagined the scene and wished he had his overcoat.

* * *

She tugged a hat down over her dark hair and shivered against the chill wind. The parking lot was lit only by one sickly streetlamp, and it flickered in and out as the wind gusted. Where was he? His text had been clear. Trust him to be late. Typical immature power game bullshit.

A shadow passed over the orange light and she knew without turning that he'd arrived. Her spine went straight and she stopped shivering. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She turned around and her eyes narrowed at the sight of his familiar smug smirk.

"Well, my dear," he said in his gravelly voice, "it's quite the merry chase you've led me on. I hope you're happy."

"How did you find me?" she said.

"One of my boys spotted you on the road just this afternoon." His gaze sharpened as he studied her. "What have you done to your hair?" He shook his head in mock despair. "That's a travesty, my dear, truly."

She lifted a brow. "I was tired of red."

"Did you think it would hide you from me?"

"It took you this long."

"Touché," he said with an appreciative smile. Then, with less bonhomie, "My dear girl, we had a deal."

"No! No, Crowley. No deals. There were never any deals between us. No contracts, no kisses. I worked for you. I did a job; the job was over; I left. I'm sorry if you're suffering from some sort of separation anxiety, but what's done is done."

"Normally, yes. I am a man of my word, after all." He smiled, and she shuddered in spite of her resolve. "But you took something that belongs to me, and that… _vexes_  me. I believe you can understand why, having lost so much yourself."

She bit her lip. Her eyes flicked away. Back. "I don't have it."

"Something tells me you're lying."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I took it, Crowley. I'm not denying that. I just don't have it anymore. I pawned it."

He blinked at her, at a complete loss for words. She struggled not to laugh. "If you could see your expression. I'm not kidding. I needed money, so I got rid of it back in Minnesota or Michigan or Minneapolis. I don't know; somewhere with an  _m_."

He seemed to grow and shrink as his fury boiled and steamed within him. She stared, too fascinated to be frightened. Would he kill her? Probably not. There was too much chance she was lying, and then he'd never get his capital  _p_  Precious back.

"You can torture me if you want," she said, "but you and I both know it won't do much good. What's the point of torturing someone who doesn't have anything left to lose?" She shrugged. "It's just pain, and that passes."

Crowley wasn't a creature lightly trifled with, and that's precisely what this woman had done. It left him in a state beyond rage. He was incandescent. Choking on his wrath. Yet he knew she was right. He had hired her because everything she had once loved was dead and gone, and she was alone. As she said, she had nothing in the world left to lose. It made her perfect for his purposes, but useless for torture.

He lifted his hands. Gave her a puckish smile. "Ah well. I'll just send my boys to every major city between here and LA that starts with an  _m_ , shall I? We haven't anything better to do."

"There's the spirit. Pip pip, cheerio. Plenty of time now that they're not raking around looking for me." She loathed that smile. It made her skin crawl. He might kill her just for the sheer joy of it at this point.

"Very well, my dear. It was, as always, a pleasure. Look me up the next time you're on the left coast, will you?"

She didn't trust him for a second, and this "gracious in defeat" act wasn't carrying a drop of water. At a loss, she nodded. "Sure, Crowley. And let me know if you find it, okay? Sorry for the misunderstanding. No hard feelings?"

"Oh, none. None at all. Goodbye, my dear."

He waved, and she turned to go with a reluctant hitch to her gait. She'd taken two steps and was almost out of the fitful circle of light when his rough voice stopped her.

"Layla, my dove? Just one more thing?"

She closed her eyes and muttered a curse under her breath. Spun back toward him with a blinding smile that didn't touch her eyes. "Yep. What's up?"

"It's nothing. A small matter. Barely worth mentioning." He watched her. She watched him back. The seconds ticked past like hours.

"Then mention it and leave me be, Crowley. It's fucking freezing out here for those of us who feel that sorta thing."

His mouth curved, and her heart froze more completely than her fingers and toes. "Your friend, Layla. Who is he?"

His voice was like a swift and sure arrow straight to her iced-over heart, but she knew him well, and he'd given her just long enough to prepare. To plead ignorance would put him on the scent. There was only one person he could be talking about, and she couldn't pretend otherwise. "You mean the guy?"

"Yes, my dear.  _The guy_. My scout said you two seemed quite…chummy today."

"It was cold."

"Indeed. Still. You aren't usually one for public displays of affection."

She snorted. "Affection? Crowley, please. It was cold and he's cute." She waved a hand. "I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. I'm just giving him a lift."

"Ah, that old game."

"Yes, Crowley. Imagine how much better off I'd be if I'd played it with  _you_."

He chose to laugh rather than take offense, and his curiosity seemed satisfied. "Very well. A nobody with no name. I do hope he doesn't turn out to be a psychopath," he said, whispering the last word as though it were taboo.

"You and me both. Goodbye, Crowley. I hope I never see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, my dear. Though if I don't find what I'm looking for, we'll both be disappointed."

She opened her mouth to reply, but he was gone in a whiff of brimstone-scented smoke before she could say anything. She stared after him for a long time, but finally the cold got to her and she hurried away.

Crowley had found her. Crowley knew about Cas.

_Cas_. She had to find Cas.

* * *

Cas sat on the edge of his lumpy mattress and stared at the water-stained ceiling without really seeing it. He was weary and confused. He wasn't sure if she would ever trust him, and he suspected he'd only made things worse this afternoon. For a moment he thought he'd broken through her shell, but by the time they'd gotten back to the car, she was the same as ever.

Obviously the message on her phone had upset her, and her abrupt departure from dinner worried him. He didn't know how to ask about it, though. It was well outside the established bounds of their relationship, and he wasn't sure she would tell him anyway. He wished now that he had pushed her harder from the beginning. Not let her set all the rules. He was now bound by those rules, and he had no choice but to continue following them as he had done.

He sighed. Pulled his phone from his pocket and began to dial. He wished he had a source of advice that wasn't so…skewed…but he could't afford to be picky.

Dean answered on the second ring. "Cas, what's up? How's Operation Touched by an Angel going?"

"Ironic you should call it that," he said without a trace of humor.

"Oh yeah? You sound weird. Weirder than usual. Everything okay?"

"I'd rather not talk on the phone. Where are you?"

Dean told him, and an eye-blink later Cas appeared in a hotel room remarkably similar to the one he'd just left. He was dressed in his familiar suit and trench coat. Dean frowned. "Dude, what happened to your clothes? You aren't wearing that—"

"I changed on the way. Hello, Dean. Sam."

"Hey, Cas," the younger Winchester said. "You look…frazzled."

"That's a good word for it, yes."

"Beer?" Dean said. He pulled three bottles from the fridge and waved one in Cas' direction. He considered a moment before accepting with a shrug. Dean popped the lid and passed it over, but Cas only stared down at the bottle, face set in glum lines. He slumped into one of the uncomfortable straight-backed chairs, and Sam glanced at his brother with a worried look. Dean just grimaced.

"I told you it wouldn't be easy," he said as he leaned back against the table.

"I feel I may have made an error in judgment."

Dean took a pull of his drink and shared a glance with his brother. Sam looked nonplussed. Dean sighed. "Okay. Lay it on us."

Cas fidgeted. "You have to understand. She's…unique. Different." He ran a hand over his face. "Impossible."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of women, compadre," Dean said with a snort. "So far you haven't said a damn thing that sets this chick apart from any other I've ever heard of."

"Cas, man," Sam said, his tone worried, "please say you didn't sleep with her."

He looked startled. "I get my own room," he said.

"He meant—you know what?" Dean waved it away with a laugh. "Never mind. So does this unique flower of womanhood have a name?"

"She hasn't told me her name yet."

Sam choked on his beer, and Dean took a moment to clap him on the back. "She…what?" Sam croaked as he glared at his brother.

"You're trying to save her soul from the eternal torments of Hell and you don't even know her  _name_?" Dean said, ignoring Sam's evil eye.

"I never mentioned Hell as a possibility." He frowned in irritation and took an impatient nip from his bottle. "I know her name. Of course I know her name. She just hasn't  _told_  me her name, so I wouldn't feel right telling anyone else. Even you. I apologize, but I'm sure you can understand. It's a matter of trust."

The brothers shared a wary look. Cas was getting his pissy tone. Probably time to change the subject. "You gonna tell us about this error in judgment or what?"

"Ah," Cas said. "That." He cleared his throat. "She is, as I was saying, quite outside my experience. I thought I knew something of human interaction after the time we've spent together, but it turns out I was woefully unprepared for the task I've set myself."

"She's resisting the righteous path, huh?" Dean said with a twist of his lips.

"She's resistant to…awe." His frowned deepened. He shook his head and remembered that afternoon in the snow. Not the kiss. The bit before it. "No, that's not right. Nothing seems to…how do you put it? Get under her skin."

Dean lifted a brow. Shared a speculative glance with Sam. "So what did you do?" Sam said.

Cas slammed the dark bottle on the table nearly hard enough to shatter it as he rose to his feet and paced away. He stood with his back to them, and his voice was almost a growl as he said, "I kissed her."

"You what?" Dean said, leaning closer.

"I kissed her!" Cas said as he spun to face them in a whirl of khaki.

The brothers blinked at him. The silence lengthened.

"That's it?" Sam finally said.

"You kissed Meg, too," Dean said. "You know, for an angel you're kind of a skank."

"You do get around, kissing-wise," Sam said with mock gravity.

"This isn't funny!" Cas said.

Dean's chin dropped to his chest and the laughter rippled out of him. "It's pretty damn funny, Cas. You got yourself tied up in knots because you kissed a girl. What happened? Did she slap you or kick you out of the car?"

He glowered. "No. She…she kissed me back. Then, later, she told me it was 'just a moment' and we shouldn't speak of it."

Sam winced. "Ouch."

"Sounds like you finally got under her skin," Dean said.

"I don't understand."

He waved his beer. "That's something women say when they want you to think something isn't a big deal when it really is. If it really hadn't mattered then she wouldn't have mentioned it at all. The fact that she told you not to think about it means she was thinking about it, and that's what you wanted, right?"

With brow deeply furrowed over midnight eyes, Cas struggled to follow Dean's line of logic. At last he gave a reluctant nod, and Dean grinned. "Well there you go. Everybody wins. So. Tell me. This girl-without-a-name. She hot?"

"Dean. Her looks are irrelevant."

"Sure. But is she?"

Cas began to fidget again. "I should go."

"C'mon, Cas."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I have no real basis for comparison and no means of judging human attractiveness. She has a certain symmetry to her features, yes. Their arrangement is in keeping with harmonious ratios."

"Yowza," Sam said. "You better write that one down, Dean. It'll make all the ladies melt."

"I'm taking notes," he said. Then, "Besides her symmetrical features, what's so special about this girl?"

Cas paused. "What do you mean?"

"I think he means out of all the girls in all the world, why this one? I mean, no offense, Cas, but you killed a lot of people back then. Why did you choose  _this_  girl?"

He looked away. Back. His eyes had gone eternal, that look he got when they wondered how far he could see. Forever, maybe.

"There are several reasons. I did take many lives, Sam, but in her case…" He shook his head. "I left her alone. I left her scarred and changed. I know she isn't the only one, but if you could have seen the woman she used to be versus the woman she is now…." He trailed off with a sigh and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

"You said several reasons," Sam said after a moment.

Cas held them with that fathomless gaze for a long time before he said, "She holds the key."

They shared identical frowns. "The key to what?" Dean said.

"The key to Hell."

The angel was gone in a flutter of invisible wings before either brother could recover enough to say anything further. Dean howled to the empty air for answers while Sam's big body folded like his strings had been cut. He hit the bed with boneless grace and slid to the floor.

"The key to Hell," he said through lips gone numb. "Is he messing with us?"

"Cas doesn't know how to mess with people!" Dean said.

"How would some random girl have something like the key to Hell? And does he mean  _the_  key to  _the_  Hell?"

"How many Hells do you know of, Sammy?"

"Do you think it's something we need for the spell? Kevin's spell?"

Dean ran a hand over his face. Scrubbed up and down. Lowered himself to the floor next to his brother. "I don't know. But next time I see that trench coat wearing little bastard, I'm gonna pull his feathers out one by one until he gives us more information. Starting with his mystery date's name!"

"Maybe we should…I don't know, Dean, maybe we should just let Cas handle this."

"You heard him, Sammy!" Dean said, the force of his anger launching him to his feet again. "He's all moony over this girl. He  _kissed_  her. He's trying to  _get under her skin_. He's a mess."

Sam watched his brother pace. "Dean," he said, his voice quiet. "Dean." Louder.

"What?"

"Do you trust him?"

He went still. Only his eyes betrayed the turmoil the question evoked, and they were the green of storm-tossed seas. Twin maelstroms. "Sammy, Jesus. If you'd asked me that a year ago…"

"It's not a year ago. It's now. Do you trust him?"

He let out a tired little laugh. "You know what? Believe it or not, I do. I trust the son of a bitch. He saved my life more times than I can count in Purgatory." He grabbed his beer and took a long drag. "I know what he did before. Believe me; I'll never forget it. But, fuck it, man. Who of us is perfect?"

"Okay," Sam said. "Okay. Then we let Cas handle it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I guess we do."


	4. Four Questions

**But oh, my heart was flawed.**  
**I knew my weakness.**  
 **So hold my hand;**  
 **Consign me not to darkness.**  
Mumford and Sons, "Broken Crown"

He opened the door at her third knock and tilted his head like a curious bird. "It's late. Is something wrong?"

She was momentarily taken aback, and she blinked at him in surprise. "What are you wearing?"

He looked down. "It's an overcoat," he said, dignity offended.

"Yeah, I know it's an overcoat. Why are you wearing it—never mind. Can I come in? You weren't sleeping, were you? Stupid question, I guess, considering," she said, indicating his outfit.

He frowned and straightened his shoulders. Maybe Dean had been right after all. "No," he said, "I wasn't sleeping." He paused. "You seem upset."

She let out a harsh, weary laugh. "Yeah. You could say that." She dropped her bag onto a chair and shed her coat. Shucked her hat and gloves. Ran both hands back through her long hair and tugged it away from her face in an agonized gesture.

"I'm afraid I've done something stupid. Something petty and spiteful."

"I haven't known you very long, but I find that hard to believe."

She laughed again. Such a bitter sound from one so young, he thought. "You're right, Cas: you  _haven't_  known me very long." She turned away, and when she turned back her expression had changed. There was something haunted in it, but also a look of…he couldn't place it. Longing, maybe? He wasn't good at reading faces.

She stepped closer. "Cas, listen. There's this guy. I used to work for him. He's not a good guy. People say that, you know. They say that to the point that you become numb to it. But there are ways to be bad and ways to be  _bad_ , and this guy…he redefines the word. He knows you're traveling with me. He knows about…about earlier. About what happened."

"What happened earlier?" he said.

"You know," she said. She was close enough to touch him now, and to his vast surprise she did. He made a grab for her hands as she ran them down his chest, but she dodged his grip. "What does it matter, Cas? Honestly, now that he's found me, now that he knows…what does it matter what we do?"

She took a step back, and for a second he was relieved—but only for a second. In one swift motion she had her sweater up and over her head to reveal the simple black bra underneath.

Cas felt his face go hot. His collar suddenly seemed way too tight. "Um, what…?"

"Hush," she said. "I'm so sick of  _talking_."

She tugged off her boots. Kicked off her jeans. He watched her with widening eyes and growing panic. This wasn't at all how he'd pictured this. Not that he  _had_  pictured it, he hastily corrected himself. He hadn't pictured anything of the sort. He just…he hadn't…he wasn't prepared…

She was reaching behind her to unclasp her bra when he snapped back into focus. "Wait," he said, "please."

Her hands dropped to her sides and all pretense at seduction vanished. Her face transformed. They each took a single step forward and their bodies crashed together in an awkward tangle. His arms went around her. Hers were pressed in between them, all elbows and angles as she tried to shield herself. Her tears soon soaked the front of his shirt. He held her without a word and she sobbed without a sound.

Eventually they made it to the bed. Her sleep was exhausted and fitful, and the angel watched over her through the night.

* * *

Next morning she crept out of bed while he pretended to sleep, and he heard the shower start a few moments later. He sighed and turned over. Sat up and ran his hands back through his mussed black hair. Now what? Why were humans so  _difficult_?

She would be hungry, and she was always exponentially less difficult when she wasn't. Bored with human means of locomotion (he'd been passing as human for weeks now, to practice), Cas simply blinked out of the bed and into the nearby coffee shop. After collecting breakfast, he returned the same way, but he reappeared outside the door to avoid startling her.

He knocked, and her expression was surprised when she opened the door. "I thought you'd gone," she said.

"To get breakfast," he said, holding up the greasy bag and Styrofoam cups.

She ducked her head to hide a smile. "Set it on the table if you don't mind. I'm not all that hungry."

She'd never said that before, and it worried him. How badly had he messed up last night? Surely it wouldn't have been better if he'd accepted her offer? He was debating and rejecting several conversation starters when he heard her draw in a deep breath behind him. He turned to face her, and his eyes were wary.

He held out a cup of juice as a peace offering, and she took it with a tight smile. Fiddled with the plastic lid and studied him through tired eyes. "I don't think this is going to work out," she said at last.

"Breakfast?" he said.

"No, Cas. You know what I mean. Our traveling arrangement. There've gotta be a ton of people heading east from here. Surely you can hitch a ride with one of them and I can…go on. You can go and I can go and we'll both just… _go_."

"Separately."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes. Separately. After last night—"

"Nothing happened last night."

She slammed the cup down on the table and juice sloshed over the rim. She ignored it and glared at him. "If that's what you think then you're even more clueless than you seem. You're cute, Cas, but you're weird. Like…not-of-this-world weird. And I'm okay with that. Or at least I thought I was. But I'm weird, too, and when two people who are as weird as we are in such different ways come together, the universe tends to react in unpredictable ways. I won't be responsible for cosmic vomit because I have a soft spot for weird guys with soulful blue eyes and messy hair. So find another lift, okay?"

He stared as she grabbed her bag off the chair and swung toward the door. "Hey!" he said, his voice deeper and more powerful than she'd ever heard it. "We had an agreement. I told you my name!"

Her hand on the knob, she glanced over her shoulder but wouldn't meet his eyes. "We had an agreement. Now I'm changing it. And, Cas? There's a reason I never  _asked_  you your name."

The door slammed behind her, and for a moment he stood nonplussed. He heard the car start and the confusion passed. She wasn't leaving without him. That wasn't an option. He hadn't finished what he'd come here to do, and if she left now this whole thing would have been for naught. Key be damned, he wasn't going to give up on  _her_.

He stormed through the cheap hotel door and was brought up short by the sight of her leaning against the car, arms crossed over her chest. "Fuck you, Cas. I almost left without you."

"You said you were leaving without me," he said with a confused blink.

"I'm really pissed. I say things when I'm pissed."

He studied his boots and mulled this over. "You're angry about last night."

"Quick study."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and let his gaze drift around the nearly empty parking lot. There was a hint of sulfur in the air. Faint, but unmistakeable. Demons? "Had I…reacted differently…last night…would you be as angry?"

She looked at him for the first time since he'd come outside. Her gaze was hot, her mouth tight. Her skin was so pale that the freckles stood out like embers scattered across the bridge of her nose. "I would be different angry."

He stared at her.

She rolled her eyes. Sighed. "If you had  _reacted differently_ , as you put it, I could write you off as a garden variety asshole and that would be that. Because you reacted as you did, I have to give you some fucking credit for being a decent guy. That kind of pisses me off, because…" She gave a restless shrug. "I don't know why, Cas. I'm not used to decent guys these days, I guess. I wasn't expecting it. Look, are you coming or not?"

"I would like to, yes."

"Then get your stupid enormous bag that you never even use and get in the car before I change my mind."

He hesitated. "I'm still not sure I understand."

"Shall I explain as we drive, or should I send you a postcard from the road?"

Her tone clarified a few things. "I'll go get my bag."

"Good choice."

* * *

They passed several dozen miles in a tense, frozen silence, but at last she said, "I'm sorry. About last night. Jesus." She wouldn't look at him, even though the road was empty for miles, and instead kept her eyes trained on the asphalt in front of them. "I just…that wasn't me. At all."

He cleared his throat and glanced first at her, then out the window. "I apologize if I made you feel…unwanted. It wasn't my intention—"

"Unwanted…? What are you talking about?"

"Just that…" He hesitated. Cleared his throat again. Shifted in his seat.

"Cas?"

"Kissing you affected me deeply. I've given it a great deal of thought since then, and last night when you…"

"Took all my clothes off."

"Yes. That. It…well. It was difficult to think clearly. But I thought you didn't mean it. Not the same way you meant the kiss."

Weird, she thought, but sometimes surprisingly insightful. "Well," she said, "at least we didn't sleep together, so there's one bullet dodged." She eyed him, trying to judge his reaction.

His brow furrowed. "I don't sleep much."

She smiled a little. "I've gathered that. I meant we didn't have sex. You're not really down with the lingo, huh?"

"I lived a very sheltered life until recently."

Normally she wouldn't ask. She  _hadn't_  asked until now. But something tugged at her, and despite her better judgment she said, "How sheltered?"

He hesitated. He couldn't tell her the truth, but he wanted her to understand something close to it. "I grew up in a monastery," he said. "I was raised by priests."

"Oh. Hence the irony in Dante. Were you a priest?"

"Yes."

"But you're not anymore?"

He just shook his head, and she smiled in relief. "That's good. I'm really glad I didn't make out with a priest; that would be extremely embarrassing. So, what…you left your order and now you're out seeing the world?"

"Something like that." He paused again. She could sense he was searching for the right words, and she gave him the time he needed to find them. "Since I left my brothers, my path has been…tumultuous." His hooded eyes scanned the horizon as he spoke. She wondered what he saw there. "This is the first time I've had to truly explore the world as a member of it." He wanted to say more, so much more, but he didn't know how…so he left it at that.

He looked over at her, and she offered a ghost of a smile. "I guess fair's fair," she said. "That was four questions. Your turn. Anything but my name."

She had promised him four questions, anything but her name, but he wasn't sure she was ready to answer the one he wanted to ask. He watched the road rush at them for several long minutes before he spoke again. "Where are you going?"

"East," she said. "You know that."

He cast her an impatient frown, and she waved a hand. "All right, okay. East until I can't keep going east. There's a little island off the coast of North Carolina. A spit of sand with a village stuck to it. I have a friend there who's promised me a job. It's a nice place. Quiet in the winter, busy in the summer. Only accessible by prop plane or boat."

He watched her from the corner of his eye as her fingers tightened on the wheel until her knuckles went white. Her tone was light, as though she spoke of a haven, but her body language made it seem more like a defensible fortress. He didn't think there was a friend with a job. Not that she didn't have friends, just that she wouldn't want to risk one.

"Where is your family?" He knew the answer to that, too.

"I, um…" She fiddled with the temperature knob and adjusted the radio volume. Glanced over at him with a glum little smile. "My parents got divorced when I was just a kid, and I was never really close to my dad. My mom raised my brother and me on her own, but it was good. We did fine." She hesitated. Squeezed the wheel a few times as though she drew strength from it.

"About five years ago my mom found this church. She was never very religious, so my brother and I were surprised. Turns out it was…it was pretty sketch, like a cult or something. He went to kind of break her out or whatever, and that day everything just…went to hell. Some sort of freak storm or fire or something. Everyone in the building was killed. It was all over the news. You might remember. Weird shit went down in a bunch of churches all over the world that week."

He nodded and looked away. He remembered.

She cleared her throat, and her voice was thick when she said, "Two more."

"Why won't you tell me your name?" He said it quickly, and it surprised him more than it did her. She seemed to be expecting it.

"Isn't it obvious? Right now you can walk away. You tell this story later, and I'm just some girl who gave you a ride across the country. 'What was her name?' 'I don't know. Just some girl.' I'm nobody." She shrugged.

"You tried to walk away," he said.

"Yeah. And I couldn't. Because you're not just 'some guy' to me now. You're Cas. This time two days ago I probably could've. Now, though, I would be leaving  _Cas_  behind, not just…that weird guy I picked up back in Minnesota. See?"

She could feel the heat of his gaze against her skin, but she refused to look at him. Only the tight lines of her body betrayed the tension humming through her. "You've been kind to me," he said. "You bought me breakfast. You gave me a ride. Even if I never learn your name, you will never be nobody. Walking away will never be easy."

Now she did glance toward him, a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. She reached over and patted his hand where it rested on his leg. "You're sweet, Cas. Really. But you said yourself you've lived a sheltered life before now, so let me give you a bit of advice. Don't get too attached to people. You'll lose them or they'll let you down or they'll turn out to be anything but what you expect. No one is who he seems.

"You, for example. You might've been a priest once, but that was a long time ago, wasn't it? In another life. And since that life you've done some shit you aren't proud of. Which is fine, because we all have…but don't try to bullshit me, Cas. I'm not  _new_."

He studied her with his intense blue gaze as she drove, and finally he leaned back against the seat, apparently satisfied. "I think I'll save my last question for another time."

"Probably a good plan."

There was a silence. He reached toward the volume button on the radio. "I like this Mumford and his sons," he said.

"It's not…" She shook her head. Smiled. "I thought you didn't 'get' music with words."

"I'm not sure that I do…but I think I like it."

"Praise sweet baby Jesus. If I had to listen to  _The Magic Flute_  one more time…!"

"I'm not sure what the Son of—"

She cut him off with a gesture. "Sorry, bad joke to use in front of a former priest. Should I watch my language, too?"

"I have no objection to cursing."

"Good to know. Crank that music, Father Guido. The Exotic East beckons." Then, "Is that your phone? You have a phone?"

"Yes and yes."

She eyed him. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

He sighed and spent a few moments struggling to extract it from his pocket. Checked the caller ID and sighed again. "Dean," he said into it, "this isn't a great time."

She could hear an angry voice coming through the line, but she couldn't make out any words. She smiled a little and was careful to look away when he glanced over at her.

He listened for a long time before he said, "I apologize for being so cryptic, but I had no choice. Tell Sam not to worry. I understand that's difficult for him, but everything is fine."

More shouting. "I doubt that's physically possible," he said in a dubious voice. He let out an impatient breath and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "Dean, please. In this case Sam is right. I know what I'm doing."

The conversation went back and forth for a few more minutes, but the mysterious Dean seemed mollified. Cas hung up with a distracted frown and she let him brood for a while. She probably shouldn't ask. But they seemed to be in a sharing state of mind today, and she really was dying to know.

"Everything okay?" She winced a little at the banality of it.

His eyes drifted across the car in a distracted way before they focused on her. "Yes. Dean reacts to worry with anger, and when he's prodded by Sam it only gets worse. I can't blame them for their concern. I have, in the past, proved worthy of it."

"Because you left the monastery?"

His mouth quirked. "They fully supported that decision. No. It was the…how did you put it? Shit I'm not proud of that happened later. It makes them wary of my judgment."

"Oh, Cas, come on. We all have wild oats to sow, and if you were cooped up in some hooray for Jesus frat house until you were thirty, then your oats were probably  _screaming_  for a good sow. How bad could it have been?"

His silence troubled her. She spared a moment to look at him, and his expression sent a shudder straight through her soul. She swallowed. Looked away. Brushed the back of her hand across her face and was shocked when it came away wet. "That bad?" she whispered when she could trust her voice again.

"As bad as you can imagine," he said in a hollowed-out rasp. "Worse."


	5. A Roadblock

**Oh I need somebody, I need someone I could trust;**  
**And I don't gamble, but if I did I would bet on us.**  
The Lumineers, "Dead Sea"

His ominous words had ended that particular conversation, and two hours' silence had carried them from one nameless middle state to another. They were less than an hour from the Mississippi when a sight on the road ahead nearly made her slam on the brakes in horror.

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she whispered.

Cas pretended to sleep with his head pressed against the window, but surprise had him wide-eyed and staring. "I don't think that would be physically possible," he said in the same tone he'd used earlier with Dean.

"No, probably not," she said. "Look." She flicked her fingers at the road, but he'd already seen it. A roadblock. Several police cars. Cops milling around. General unpleasantness, but he wasn't sure why it would have prompted such a violent reaction from her.

"Have we committed a crime?" he said.

"I…" She glanced at him sidelong. "No. Not…no." Not a crime that anyone would report, anyway. There's no way Crowley would go to the cops. Not in a million years.

"Then they must be looking for someone else," he said in an even voice. "We'll just pass through." His eyes were narrow and thoughtful as he studied the roadblock, and she could tell his mind was working.

"What? What are you thinking?"

He slid the window down a crack and sniffed the air.

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?"

"I don't like this."

"Yeah, me neither. Welcome to five minutes ago."

He was getting used to her hyperbolizing for comedic effect (or whatever her intentions might be), so he didn't comment on the actual time that had elapsed since they'd spotted the obstacle.

"If we turn around, it will look suspicious."

"Yup. Okay." She took a deep breath. Her hands tightened on the wheel. "You remember last night I mentioned my old boss?"

"I recall."

"He's a powerful guy, Cas. And nasty, like I said. If he's somehow…just keep your head down, okay? Don't say anything. You're just some guy I picked up in Minnesota and I'm just some girl giving you a lift. Got it?"

Their eyes met and locked just long enough for him to nod. Her smile was shaky, but it solidified as she pressed her foot against the gas and they shot forward. She slowed again as they approached the roadblock, and she slid down her window and reached for her wallet.

"Ma'am," a state trooper said as he touched his hat. "Sorry for the inconvenience. Mind if I take a look at your license and registration?"

"Sure," she said with one of those bright, brittle smiles that didn't reach her eyes. She handed him the card from her wallet and leaned across Cas' lap to dig through the glove compartment. Muttered an apology as she found what she was looking for and handed it to the trooper. "Everything okay?" she said.

"Looks like it's all in order. Where you headed, Miz…Bennett?"

She cleared her throat and cut a look at Cas. He kept his expression flat. "Back east. Home to North Carolina."

"I see," he said. "Well you all drive safe now." He handed her papers back and tipped his hat again. "Ma'am. Sir."

"Thanks. Have a great day!" she said. She hit the button on the window and accelerated. Adrenaline hummed through her veins until she felt dizzy with it, but she tried to stay calm. Steady. They were almost clear of the roadblock when she saw him.

Their eyes met over the top of a police cruiser, and his familiar smile was like poison. She thought she was going to be sick, but somehow she held it together. Cas asked her if everything was all right, and she even managed a smile for him.

Ten miles later she couldn't pretend anymore, and a panicked Castiel had to grab the wheel when the tears blinded her.

* * *

They managed to find a fleabag motel that rented rooms by the hour, and he got her inside and calmed down enough to talk. He brought her a bottle of water and a washcloth for her face. Sat her down on the bed and pulled up the chair to sit across from her.

"Who did you see?" he said.

His voice was quiet, and the compassion in it almost set off a fresh round of tears. Christ, she hadn't cried this much in…ever. She'd never been prone to fits of weeping like this. What a moron. She wiped her face and sniffled. "I don't want to talk about it, Cas. I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"I have some trouble believing you."

Her hands shook. He grasped her palms and held tight.

"Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me."

"You have to understand," she said, a desperate plea. "I had a life once. I graduated magna cum laude. I was going to grad school. I had  _plans_. Then they died, and it was like…what's the point? What's it matter? And I don't know  _why_ , because that would've pissed them off so much. I just dropped everything and moved to LA."

His midnight eyes were steady on hers. "What happened?"

She choked out a bitter laugh. "It's so cliche." She pulled away and buried her face in her hands. "I met a guy," she said from between her fingers. "Isn't that how it always starts? I met a guy and he turned out to be a loser. That's who I saw. The guy."

He said nothing, and in his face she saw that same heart-rending compassion she'd heard in his voice.

"I needed a job," she said. "I was bartending, a few other things, but I was barely making rent. The guy said he could help me find something. His boss was hiring, in fact. I said hey, awesome, aren't you a peach?"

Her lips twisted. "He took me to meet this…smarmy English bastard. Calls himself  _Crowley_ , just one name like butter won't melt in his mouth."

"What was the job?" he said. This was one detail he didn't know. He almost didn't want to.

"He wanted me to escort him to a party." She rolled her eyes. "I know what you're thinking, and that was my immediate thought, too. Or, I don't know, maybe you're  _not_  thinking it because you're you. But anyway, I told him no way. I needed money, but I wasn't that hard up. He was quick to explain that it was purely social. I would be his arm candy, nothing else."

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "Why me, right? This was LA. You can't throw a rock out there without knocking out twenty gorgeous blond bimbos. Why would he choose a freckle-faced redhead?"

Cas stirred. "There is a certain symmetry to your features."

Her head tilted and she stared at him. "Did you just call me pretty?"

"Your hair is copper, not red."

"Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"I asked you a question."

He looked away. Back. He had trouble meeting her penetrating gaze. "I don't really understand what that word means. Objectively I know, of course, but I'm not sure how to apply it to a person or a thing."

He paused and his eyes moved over hers. Locked. "I know I enjoy looking at you. I like the shape of your mouth. The color of your eyes. I like these." He brushed his thumb across her cheekbones to indicate the dusting of freckles there.

Time slowed. His touch was gentle but he left a trail of tiny sparks in his wake, and she felt each one zing through her like heat lightning in miniature.

"Is that the same thing?" he said. His voice was rougher, deeper.

For a second she had no idea what he was talking about. "Oh," she said as her senses began to clear. "No, Cas." She smiled a little. "It's better."

"What happened next?"

"What?" she said and blinked.

"With Crowley. The job?"

"Oh. That." She waved a hand. "I took it. And he was right. It was just a party. I was just his arm candy. He hired me because I have a brain in my head and could charm the old bastards while he worked the room. It seemed fine. He called me a week or so later and I agreed to do it again."

"How many parties?"

"Four," she said. "Four before I finally caught on."

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

"You have no idea, Cas. He's a broker. Drugs, stolen merchandise, weapons…that's all bad shit, and I'd feel guilty enough. Crowley deals in  _people_. Buying and selling. And I helped."

"It wasn't your fault," he said again. "You didn't know."

"Ignorance is a thin defense, Cas."

"What did you do when you found out?"

"I quit, first of all. I didn't tell him I knew. I just told him I couldn't work for him anymore. He insisted on paying me for my last job even though I told him I didn't want it, but when Crowley insists you don't resist. I went over to his house to collect my money, and he…well he told me everything." She frowned. "Maybe not everything. But enough."

She shuddered. She of course wasn't telling him the crazy details. She wasn't telling him about the souls. The deals. The demons. Cas might have been a priest once, but that didn't mean he was ready to believe in all of that come to life.

"Anyway, he offered me a contract. I said no. He was actually rather gracious about the whole thing, and I think he would've let me go on my way if I hadn't…I did something stupid. I don't even know why I did it. I just…I hated him. I hated what he'd gotten me into. I hated how powerless I felt. I hated how condescending he was being. So I took it."

He sucked in a long breath. He knew what she'd taken, and he knew why. Crowley was never meant to be King of Hell. It was a position he'd fallen into due to luck, ambition, and a convenient power vacuum. The key was searching for its rightful owner, and it would jump from hand to hand until it found him…or her, Cas supposed.

"What did you take?" he said.

She pulled a bundle from her bag, unwrapped it, and held it out to him. He started to reach for it but stopped himself. He should definitely not touch the key to Hell. Very bad idea. There was no predicting how it would react to an angel's touch, and he didn't want to find out.

She watched him as he stared at it. Could he see it? She wasn't sure. "Does it look…strange to you?" she said.

His eyes were sharp as they jumped from the key to her face and back again. "Strange how?"

"Um, just. Strange."

"It changes," he said.

She went limp with relief and almost dropped it. She had been afraid she was the only one! "Yeah. Exactly. It looks like gold sometimes."

"Gold with rubies."

She nodded. "But then other times, it looks like…what is that?"

"Bone," he said. "Bone and hair." The bones of the damned, he didn't say.

"Ew."

"Indeed." He rubbed his palms against his pants and sat back. "You should put it away," he said. It was becoming harder not to touch it.

"Right," she said. She folded the handkerchief around it again and tucked it back into its pocket in her bag. "I keep it wrapped up because I don't want to touch it." Her nose wrinkled. "I don't know why I took it. It's so weird. I want to get rid of it. I wish I had pawned it. I wish I  _could_."

"That would be a monumentally bad idea."

"Yeah," she said. "I thought so, too." A silence fell between them. She reached for him. "Come here." Took his wrist and pulled him across to sit next to her on the sprung mattress.

She pulled her leg up onto the bed so that her body was angled toward him. After another long quiet moment, she cupped his face in her hands and rubbed her thumbs over the furrow between his eyes. It smoothed for the first time in days. "My name is Layla Bennett," she said. "I'm a Pisces from Hendersonville, North Carolina. The night I was born there was a meteor shower and the song 'Layla' was playing on the radio. I'm lucky I wasn't named  _Star_."

"I don't know that song," he said.

"I know." She smiled. Let her hands fall into her lap. "A man wrote it for his best friend's wife. He was in love with her."

"Her name was Layla?"

"No, actually. Her name was Patti. He didn't want his friend to know the song was for his wife. It was a secret."

"Who were these men?" he said. "Would I know them?" Somehow his fingers hand become entwined with hers. He wondered when that had happened. He liked it.

"I don't know," she said. "Eric Clapton wrote the song. George Harrison was the best friend. Do you?"

"George Harrison. From the Beatles. Yes, I know him." He stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist and enjoyed the silkiness of her skin there.

She laughed. Shivered a little at his touch. "Fantastic! I guess it's true: everyone really does know the Beatles."

He smiled then, a full, brilliant, beautiful smile, and it transformed his face. For a moment she was breathless. But then she blinked and looked down and realized that their fingers were locked together and she hadn't even noticed and…and…

Fuck.

He watched her face change. He wasn't good at reading faces, but he didn't like the transformation he witnessed. "Layla, what's wrong?"

"What…? Oh. Nothing. I'm sorry, I just…we got distracted." She tugged her fingers from his and rose to pace away.

"Ah. Of course. The key."

"And the roadblock. If Brody was there then Crowley sent him, and that means he knows I was lying to him last night."

"Last night?"

"Ohh…" Damn. She hadn't meant to tell him about that. "Before I came to see you, I talked to Crowley. He knows I took it, and I told him I pawned it. I think he believed me at first, but obviously he had doubts." She shook her head; worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I don't think he should have it back."

"No," he said. "Definitely not."

"So what do we do?"

"I have some friends who may be able to help."

"Angry Dean and worried Sam?"

"They are my only friends, yes."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't want anyone else involved with Crowley, Cas. I'm not sure if I've made it clear just how dangerous—"

"Layla. Please." He hesitated. Rose and took a tentative step toward her. "I know Crowley. So do Sam and Dean. I've…known…Crowley in the past. There's nothing about him you need to explain."

She went still. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. He tried not to squirm as he felt her gaze penetrate deep, deeper,  _through_  him. She stepped closer and pressed a hand against his chest, over his heart. "Cas, I'm not asking for any confessions out of you. I was never a priest, after all. But if whatever you did involved Crowley's sort of games.… You should talk to someone. Anyone. A stranger. Maybe your friend Dean."

He looked away. "Dean was there. He saw it all."

"And he's still your friend?"

A small, thoughtful pause. Then, "Yes. After a great deal of work, yes."

"Oh," she said, her voice soft. "Oh. Well that makes me feel much better."

* * *


	6. Castiel, not Casper

**And waiting there in every pause**  
**That old familiar fear that claws you,**  
 **Tells you nothing ain't no good.**  
 **Then pulling back you see it all**  
 **Down here so laughable and small,**  
 **Hardly a quiver in the dirt.**  
David Gray, "Ain't No Love"

Cas had stepped out to call Dean and grab her some food, and while he was gone she'd somehow managed to fall asleep despite her fears of catching something from the bed. She was curled into a tight ball when he opened the door, her fists tucked under her chin, and she looked impossibly young.

His mouth softened as he watched her, and he lowered himself into the chair as silently as he could. He didn't want to wake her. The room was improbably quiet considering the sort of establishment this was, and though they had a long way to go to reach Sam and Dean, he knew she needed the rest.

She stirred. Rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Do I smell food?"

His mouth quirked. She was a one-woman eating machine. "I brought hotdogs."

"Ooo, hotdogs." She sat up and reached for the bag. Watched him as she chewed. "Why don't you eat, Cas? Some leftover discipline thing from the monastery?"

He hesitated. "Something like that."

She studied him, her food momentarily forgotten. "I know you're not telling me the whole truth. That's fine for now, but we're going to talk about it eventually. Okay?"

"Yes," he said. "Okay."

"I know that's probably not what you were expecting, after all the secrets," she said. Took a bite of hotdog, chewed, and swallowed. "But I've been known to change my mind."

He started to say something, but as she watched his face changed. He turned his head and sniffed. "Do you smell that?" he said.

She frowned. "I smell stale cigarette smoke and hotdogs. What—?" She went pale and still. "Is that…?"

"Sulfur," he said.

She tossed the food aside and grabbed her bag. "We've got to go. The car—"

"There's no time. Take my hand."

"Now's not exactly convenient for hand-holding, Cas. We have to get out of here."

"That's what I'm trying—" He broke off in frustration. He'd never be able to explain it to her in time. "Layla, do you trust me?" he said, his dark blue eyes earnest and pleading.

She couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "You've spun me a tale of lies and half-truths since the moment we met. You know what Crowley is and you know way more about that key than you're telling me. You know every note of every piece of Baroque music ever written, but the only artist you've heard of since 1750 is George Harrison." She took a deep breath. "Not only that, but when you touch me it feels like every nerve in my body has been short-circuited and I forget how to think and it's the most insane, crazy,  _amazing_  thing that's ever happened to me. I offered you a ride when I should have told you to get lost. I told you my name."

She slid her hand into his. "So yes, Cas, I trust you. Whatever harebrained scheme you have in mind, go for it. I trust you."

"Close your eyes," he said.

She did, another sign of the trust she had in him, and there was a flash of heat and light so intense that she cowered against it. "It's okay," he said. "You can open your eyes. We're here."

"We're where?" she said, lids still closed and tone cross.

"Whoa," a voice said. "Where did you guys come from?"

"Hey, look, it's Cas and his mystery date," said another.

Layla opened her eyes and managed a quick glance around. "Cas," she said as the room began to spin, "you've zapped us into an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog."

"She's goin' down!" the second voice said.

One of them leapt toward her (the big one, she thought), but Cas was already there, and the last thing she saw before the lights went out was his face, all big eyes and worried frown. She tried to smile and tell him everything was fine. She'd had this dream before. It always ended well. She couldn't get the words out, and everything went black.

* * *

"She was  _right here_!" Crowley said, his voice rising from an angry growl to end on a furious roar that nearly blasted the windows out of the seedy motel room. "How far could she have gotten in ten seconds?"

"I dunno, boss," one of the demons said with a shrug. "We had the place staked out like you said. Brody spotted 'em back at the roadblock, and me 'n' Tobias followed 'em here. The car's still in the lot and everything."

"And you checked the bathroom, I presume?"

The demon blinked like a lazy lizard.

"The window?" Crowley said with a gesture.

"Oh," he said. "Right. Don't open."

"Right. So that means there's one way out of this room, but you and Tweedledumber had it locked down tighter than a vicar's arsehole, yes?"

Another lazy blink. Then, "Oh, yeah, boss. The guy left, made a call, came back. Then you got here and now it's like you see it. No one in or out since the guy got back, I swear it."

Crowley scowled and cast his restless gaze around the small room. Layla Bennett was an ordinary human woman. Maybe she had a slight psychic twinkle, a mild talent that she'd probably always attributed to strong instincts or good luck, but otherwise she was normal as toast.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and held the breath to savor the bouquet. "Well I'll be buggered," he said.

"You," he said, pointing at the demon. "What's your name?"

"Basil, sir."

"Of course, Basil. How could I forget good old Basil?" He stepped closer and tossed his arm over Basil's shoulders. "Tell me, Basil. What did our girl's gentleman friend look like?"

"Look like, sir?" His thin face screwed up in thought. "I don't know. He was sorta…humanish, I guess. I didn't get too close."

Crowley gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to pop Basil's head like a grape. "Was he short or tall? Fat or thin? Dark or fair?"

"Ah, I see what you mean, boss. Well, he was about average. Not too tall, not too thin. Dark hair. Wore one a them coats, like Columbo."

"Columbo. Who the blazes is Columbo?"

"A character from American television," a voice said from the doorway.

Crowley turned, dragging the hapless Basil with him. "Ah, Brody! Just in time. Perhaps you can shed some light on this murky situation."

"I'm surprised you don't know Columbo, Crowley. He means a trench coat," Brody said with a nod toward the demon. "Layla's friend was wearing a trench coat."

* * *

"Put her on the couch," Sam said. "Why did she faint? Is she okay? What happened?"

Cas carried her limp form from the doorway where they'd appeared across the small interior of Rufus' cabin over to the couch where Dean had been sitting moments before. He laid her down like she might shatter. Stepped back to study her with a deep frown. Pulled the afghan off the sofa's back and draped it across her. He fussed with it until Dean got impatient and pulled him away.

"She's fine, man. Relax. You wanna tell us what happened? I thought we were meetin' you on the road."

"We need to get her a hex bag. We can't risk Crowley finding her again." He looked up and realized Dean had asked him a question. "That's what happened. Crowley found us. There wasn't time to leave any other way, so I had to…zap us here. I believe she fainted because of the key."

"The key?" Sam said. "What does the key have to do with anything?"

"I was hesitant to use any of my angelic abilities in the key's presence because I wasn't sure how it would react. I imagine there was some sort of feedback or overload when the two conflicting powers met."

"And you're going to explain to us how she got it, right?" Dean said.

"I think it would be better if I left that to her," Cas said.

"Did she at least tell you her name?"

"Yes. But it would be better if I left that to her, too."

Dean threw his hands in the air and spun away with a disgusted snort.

"Is there anything you  _can_  tell us, Cas?" Sam said.

He considered the unconscious girl on the couch, head tilted and eyes fathomless. "She likes to eat," he said. "Breakfast is her favorite meal because she loves toast. She's named after a song. Her hair is the color of copper. She hates the cold. Feather pillows make her sneeze." He paused. "There are other things, of course, but those are a few of my observations."

The brothers exchanged a look. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam rubbed his chin. "Okay. Thanks, Cas. Good to know," Dean said. He sighed and grabbed his friend's arm. Pulled him away from the couch and lowered his voice. "Cas, listen. Does she know…about you? What you are? What you did?"

He shook his head. "I haven't told her yet."

"Don't you think that's sorta important information?"

"There hasn't exactly been time."

"Does she know what the key is?"

"Not precisely, but I believe she does know about Crowley. That will help."

Dean hesitated. "Cas—"

"Guys, hey, I think she's coming around," Sam said.

Cas hurried back to the sofa just as her eyes fluttered open. Her face scrunched and she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "Oh my God. I feel like someone's playing a John Phillips Sousa march in my skull," she said.

"I'll get some aspirin," Sam said.

"Cas? What happened? Where are we?"

He reached out to help her sit up; she gripped his sleeve so hard her knuckles went white. Sam appeared with two small white pills and a glass of water, and she shrank away from him. Cas' arm went around her back and she pressed her face against his shoulder.

"Am I losing my mind?" she whispered. "Weren't we just in a motel room?"

"It's all right," he said. "I can explain everything. Take the aspirin. It will help."

She took a deep breath. Pushed away from Cas, offered him a strained smile, and turned toward Sam. "You must be worried Sam," she said.

"Huh," he said with a nonplussed twist to his mouth. "Yeah, I guess so. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I'm normally a lot harder to scare.  _Really_  weird day." She downed the pills and drained half the water before she turned to Dean. "And let me guess. Angry Dean, right?"

"Got it in one. But, you know, Cas hasn't been quite as forthcoming with  _your_  name."

Their eyes met. She raised her chin and smiled a little. "Layla Bennett," she said in her sweetest voice. "So pleased to meet you."

He snorted and looked away. Grinned at Cas. "Clapton. Nice."

"It was either that or  _Star_ ," Cas said.

"Great. Now that we all know each other, someone explain what's going on before I scream."

"Layla," Cas said, his tone earnest, "I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"You think?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. She touched his knee. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."

Their eyes met. Held. The dim light had darkened hers to the color of coffee without any cream. His were shadowed with guilt. "I was never in a monastery," he said. "I was never a priest."

"Cas a priest. There's an idea," Dean said.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said with a glare.

She held up a hand. She had no patience for bickering. "You guys know what Crowley is, right? The, um…the demon thing?"

"You could say that," Sam said after a long, loaded silence.

She swallowed. "Cas, you aren't about to tell me…you aren't like him, are you? Are you a demon?"

"Now that's even funnier," Dean said.

"I'm not a demon," Cas said. His eyes went darker, nearly black, and she sensed something  _other_  about him. Some of that same otherness she'd felt way back at the truck stop. Day One, a hundred years ago. "I'm an angel," he said in a voice like a knell.

She went still. Of all the things he could have said, there's very little that would have surprised her more. An angel. Now it was her turn to gape like a fish. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Perhaps the stupidest thing she could think of popped out: "With, like…wings?"

"My wings are…" He hesitated. "The form that you see is a human vessel. My true form has wings, yes, but that form is pure energy. It would blind you."

"A human vessel. Wait, what?" She poked him. "This…this skin…it's not  _you_?" Her eyes widened. She leaned closer. "Cas, what the hell are you saying? Is there someone else  _inside_  you? A person?!" Her voice dropped. "Who did I  _kiss_? Was he… _okay_  with it?"

Cas shook his head. "Jimmy Novak, my original vessel, is long dead."

"Agh!" she said and jumped back. "You're a zombie?!"

Dean burst out laughing, and even Sam couldn't contain a grin.

He cast them a quelling glare, and Dean choked his laugh into a cough. "It's not like that," Cas said. "I've died several times over the course of our battles, but God has always seen fit in His wisdom to bring me back. He has been kind enough to grant me a familiar form. The first time I died, Jimmy died with me. His soul is at rest. This is just a body now. The way I appear."

"Oh," she said. Shook her head as she tried to take it all in. "An angel named Cas. Like Casper?"

More laughing. More glaring. "It's short for  _Castiel_."

"Castiel," she said, giving it an almost musical cadence. "That's beautiful." There was a thoughtful pause. She looked away. Back. Then, "What battles?"

"That's a very long tale," Cas said.

"How long?"

"How much time you got?" Dean said.

"I don't think I'm going anywhere," she said, "and I think this is stuff I should probably know."

**Roughly an hour and 20 minutes later...**

"All right," she said and rubbed her temples to try to dull the ache aspirin had barely touched. "Lucifer and Michael fell down the well, and that left a power vacuum in both Heaven and Hell. That's how Crowley, er, descended to the throne down there. And what about you?" she said to Cas. "What happened upstairs?"

Dean and Sam shared a look, but Cas spoke before either brother could.

"I started a war," he said. "The specifics of it aren't important. I thought I was in the right. Maybe I was. I don't know. All that matters is that I set my brethren against each other."

"You needed an army," she said.

"I needed power."

"Enter Crowley."

He looked away. Back with deeply furrowed brow. "Yes. We made a deal. It wasn't enough."

"It never is," she said. "That's how he makes his living, with the 'but wait there's more!' What was your 'but wait'?"

"Purgatory," Dean said when Cas couldn't speak.

She glanced at him. "You'll have to refresh my memory, guys. I never went to catechism."

"You won't learn about this version of Purgatory at church," Sam said. "It's like Hell for monsters. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts—they're all real, and Purgatory is where they go when they die."

"I don't understand," she said.

"Crowley was feeding me damned souls," Cas said. "Human souls are pure energy, but the souls in Purgatory would increase my power…a hundred fold. A thousand."

"I see," she said, her voice soft and grim. "You open the door, and it's like an all you can eat monster-palooza. And Crowley gets whatever you can't suck down, which would probably still be plenty. What went wrong?" Even Cas detected the irony in her voice, and Dean couldn't hold back an amused snort.

"We closed the door," he said with a nod in Sam and Dean's direction, "but not before something terrible was released, and not before I did things I can never take back."

"What sort of things?" she said.

"Layla—"

"No, Cas. I want to know. You've spilled your guts this far, and for some reason I think this is the crux of it. What sort of things?"

"Uh, hey, Dean!" Sam jumped to his feet. "Hex bags. In the car. Outside."

"Right," Dean said. "We need to make hex bags. Also I have beer in the car." They nearly tripped over each other in their haste, and she watched them go with a little smile.

"Well that was subtle."

"They aren't known for subtlety. And Sam is very large."

A pause. Each studied the other as the silence became more loaded.

"Cas—"

"Layla—"

"Castiel, did you kill my family?"

He lowered his head. Ran both hands through his hair and scrubbed back and forth until it stood up like a shadowed corona. "Yes," he said at last, an agonized growl.

"Were you waiting for me in that truck stop?"

"Yes."

She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. "Okay. So what is this about? The key?"

He fell back as though she'd struck him. "It was never about the key, Layla. I didn't even know you had the key until I met you. I wanted to help you. I wanted to make things right."

"Make things right?" she said, her voice like a whip's sharp lash. "What, exactly, were you planning to do? Swoop in like some trench coat-wearing knight on a white horse and  _save_  me? My life was fucked up, I admit it, but I sure as hell didn't need a damn bit of help from a fallen angel and his gang of merry misfits! Listen, Michael Landon, next time you decide to play  _Highway to Heaven_ , find yourself another science project!"

She stormed out of the cabin and slammed the door hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. He stared after her and wondered where things had gone wrong. She hadn't gotten mad at him for killing her family. Why would his sincere desire to help her make her so angry?

Damned impossible woman.


	7. Atonement, Pt. 2

**So now I think that I could**  
**Love you back,**  
 **And I hope it's not too late 'cause you're attractive.**  
The Lumineers, "Flowers in Your Hair"

"Whoa, hey, where do you think you're going?"

Layla let out a little shriek as a hulking form materialized out of the dark directly in front of her. "Oh," she said a second later, "it's you. Fuck me! You scared the shit outta me. Don't jump out at people like that."

"Sorry," Dean muttered. "You weren't really paying attention."

She brushed at her cheeks and tried to hide a sniffle. "I was distracted. What are you doing out here anyway? Where's your brother?"

"He went around back to get some herbs for the hex bag," he said, thrilled at the change of subject. "It'll keep you hidden from Crowley. I'm doing exactly what I said: getting beer. Want one?"

"Yeah, thanks. Is this your car? It's cool. An Impala, right?"

"Heey, yeah. You know cars?"

"A little," she said, taking the bottle he held out to her. "My brother knew them. I picked up a bit here and there." She drank. "Plus Cas might have mentioned it," she said with half a grin.

"Sneaky bastard," he said.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Dean shifted his weight. Tossed his bottle cap into the brush. "Look, the thing about Cas—"

"You don't have to defend your friend to me, Dean."

He sighed. Maybe he didn't, but he wanted to. "I know what he did. Believe me, I was there for all of it. I begged him to stop, and he…he just got worse. He broke Sammy, but then he fixed him again. He saved my life again and again in Purgatory. He got me out." He lifted his hands in a shrug.

"What do you want me to say? He's not evil. And I know he's sorry for what he's done. I've known that from the moment I met him. It hangs off of him like a shroud. It's why I let him in my car. I could see the shadow of his sorrow, and it touched me." She echoed his shrug with one of her own. "I have a soft spot for hard luck cases."

"He's all tied up over you."

Her brows drew together and her eyes flicked away. "That's not…he's not…" She was suddenly flustered. "That's kinda beside the point," she said.

"I don't think it is. He's in knots, and you're pissed, and if you hurt him I'll have to hurt you, and I really hate hitting women who aren't monsters."

Surprise caused her to meet his clear, steady gaze, and she let out a short, quiet laugh. "It's not that simple, Dean. The day they died…I've been so  _angry_. It's the core of me. It's what fuels me. Gets me up in the morning, puts me to bed at night, and keeps me going in between. When he killed them, he might as well have killed me, too, because I'll never be the same woman I was back then. What do I do with this anger? How do I live without it?"

Dean's mouth lifted at the corner as he raised the bottle to his lips. "Sister, you're askin' the wrong guy," he said.

"You use it," Sam said from the other side of the car.

"Use it how?" she said.

"Cas killed your family, but he's trying to atone for it. Help him. Take your anger out on the real bad guy here," he said.

"Crowley," she said.

"Crowley," Dean echoed.

"Crowley," Sam said. "He wants that key you have, and if he gets it back, he's not letting it go again. If we can get it to this kid we know, Kevin, we can use it to close the gates of Hell forever. Crowley'll be sealed inside and he can never hurt anyone ever again."

"Close the gates?" she said. "That's an interesting idea." She paused to consider. Paced away and back again. "It  _sounds_ great, but what about the damned souls?" she said in a thoughtful voice.

"What about them?" Dean said.

"There's a story. A Neil Gaiman story. Lucifer decides he's bored with being Emperor of Hell, so he kicks everyone out and locks the gates. Problem one: all the demons and nasty souls are out roaming around wreaking havoc on earth, and someone needs to put them back."

"That won't be a problem. We're going to seal everything inside," Dean said.

"Right, okay, I get that. Problem two: while Hell was sealed, any of the damned who died had nowhere to go. Death was running around like a crazy woman because she had nowhere to  _take_ anyone. What happens to the damned if Hell is closed?"

The brothers' eyes met across the hood of the car. Clearly it was something they hadn't thought of. It was a problem worth considering, but it seemed too abstract a concept to get hung up on right now.

"I don't know," Sam said. "But, Layla, this is our  _chance_. We need your help.  _Cas_  needs your help. I know you're pissed at him, but—"

"Okay."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"I said okay. I'll help you. Let's get this Kevin kid and do the voodoo. Lock the door."

"All right!" Dean said. He held up his bottle. "Here's to the little nerdy guy with wings."

She smiled and turned back toward the cabin. "You just gonna leave me hangin' here?" he said.

"Sorry," she said over her shoulder, "I've got a date with an angel."

"I can't believe it," Dean said as the door closed behind her. " _Cas_  is gettin' more action than me. Everything else was just a warm up:  _this_  is the end of the world."

* * *

He was sitting exactly where she'd left him when she came back inside. His head was down and his hair was still sticking out every which way. She let the door close behind her with a little bang, and he looked up with a frown.

"Oh," he said. "You came back."

Her brows flicked toward her hairline. "Where else would I go? We left my car back at that motel, remember?"

"Right," he said. "I'm sorry. We'll go back and get it."

"Eventually. It's probably crawling with demons right now."

He said nothing. The space between them simmered with silent anger. The force of it brought him to his feet. "You have no right—"

"I have every right."

"I was only trying—"

"I know what you were trying, Cas. You're the one who has no right. Don't you get it? I'm not mad at you for what you did back then. When humans fuck up they do it on a human scale; when angels fuck up they do things like burn down churches and unleash legendary monsters unto the world. Atonement comes through…" She threw her hands up.

"I don't know. I don't know where atonement comes from. Maybe no one does. But I sure as hell know it doesn't come from stalking down strange women with the hopes of fixing all their problems. That's the most noble and arrogant idea I've ever heard. You meddled in my life enough, however inadvertently; I don't need you meddling any further."

His face twisted. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know that's inadequate."

"I know you didn't. I just…did you  _think_ , Cas? Before any of this? What was your plan? And what was with that kiss? And…and this afternoon in the motel? The way you touched my face?"

She put her fingers to her cheek as though she could still feel him there, the sparks against her skin. Tried to brush the sensation away and knew it was hopeless.

"You said my hair is the color of copper and you like my freckles. You held me while I cried  _in my underwear_  and didn't act like a sleaze about it. What was your plan?" she said again. "What was going to happen when the road trip was over? You'd zap out of my life and I'd go on my way and…" She trailed off. Bit her lip. "Was all of  _that_  just some experiment in human experiences for you?"

He managed to look both horrified and befuddled, a combination so at odds that it almost made her laugh despite everything. "I didn't plan anything, Layla. I never thought I would find you so…overwhelming. My interactions with humans have largely been limited to Dean and Sam, and very little about them has prepared me for…you."

"Because I'm a girl?"

He shifted. Swallowed. "Yes," he said. She'd had no idea angels could blush.

"Hum," she said. "Dean's pretty like a girl."

He opened his mouth. Tilted his head. "I've never felt the urge to kiss Dean."

"That's weird. I kinda felt the urge to kiss Dean, and I'm not sure I even like him."

"Layla—"

"Cas," she said with a laugh, "I'm teasing you." She stepped toward him. Wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his coat. "You said I'm the second person you've kissed," she said, voice soft. "Who was the first?"

"Her name was Meg. She was a demon, but an ally. I was feeling reckless. It was…an experiment in experience."

"I see," she said. "You experiment any further with this demon ally?"

His midnight eyes were steady on hers. He pressed a hand on the small of her back and pulled her a step closer. "No," he said.

She slid her hands up to his shoulders. The material was slick and cool beneath her fingers, but she could feel the heat of him through the layers of fabric, that unique electric energy like bottled lightning. He bowed his head and she rested her forehead against his. "Cas," she murmured, "Cas, this is impossible."

"We can leave," he said, his breath a hot rush against her skin. She shivered. "We could go anywhere. Forget the key; leave it here for Sam and Dean." He turned his head; rubbed his cheek against hers, his jaw up along her temple.

She leaned into it like a cat, each golden spark melting into the next until all she felt was a wave of glittering warmth. What  _was_  that? It had to be an angel thing. She let out a little sigh. Opened her eyes and leaned back to look at him.

"You don't mean that," she said. "I know you don't."

"No," he said, "I don't." He frowned. "But I am beginning to understand why this is so strongly discouraged in Heaven."

Her eyes went wide and she let out a sharp, bright laugh. Their eyes met again and her smile faded. He cupped her face in his big hands. "I would like to kiss you again," he said. "Before I do, I want you to know it's not just a moment. There is no snow. I want to kiss you because I haven't been able to forget the taste of you since the first time, and kissing you again would make me happy."

"There's no need to monologue about it, Cas. Now's kinda the moment in the story when the guy kisses the girl."

"I didn't know ours was that kind of story."

"I guess it is now, angel boy," she said, and kissed him.

* * *

When Dean opened the door a few hours later, he stopped short and Sam ran into his back with a grumble of surprise. "What the hell, Cas? You know there's a bedroom?"

Cas extricated himself from the soft tangle of limbs, afghan, and sweet-scented hair. Layla murmured and shifted, but he soothed her with a quiet word and a light touch to her cheek. He turned to Dean, straightened his coat, and glowered. "She's sleeping. Please try not to wake her."

Sam pushed his brother the rest of the way inside and closed the door behind him. "We just heard from Kevin. I don't think that kid sleeps." He screwed up his face and shook his head. "Anyway, there's something in the tablet. He knows where we need to take the key, and he knows how to use it. He wants us to pick him up."

"If we leave now we can be at Garth's houseboat by tomorrow afternoon," Dean said.

Cas studied them. "When was the last time either of you slept?" he said.

The brothers shared a look. "You care about sleep now?" Dean said.

"You've stressed its importance many times."

"Yeah, but—" He stopped. Glanced at the girl on the couch. Back at Cas. "Right. I guess I am pretty beat. How about you, Sammy?"

"Yup. I could definitely use a few hours."

"Good," Cas said. "We'll leave in the morning." He started back toward the couch, but Dean stopped him.

"C'mere," he said and pulled him toward the kitchen.

Cas followed with a curious frown. Dean leaned against the counter and watched him through shrewd eyes. "So what the hell happened, man?" he finally said. "She came back in here, and I thought for sure within the hour you'd be a virgin no more. Then I come back and she's asleep on the couch? You're both fully clothed? You didn't get friend zoned, did you?"

He shifted. Thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. Pulled them out again. "Dean, I'm not sure I feel comfortable—"

"Well get over it, because someone's gotta help you out here. She's cute. She's funny. She's into you. Yeah, you killed her family, but no relationship's perfect. Did you make a move or what?"

"There was…kissing," he said with an uncomfortable scowl.

Dean grinned. "Yeah there was. Cas, you dog!"

He cleared his throat. "My feelings for her are…new. Is love…like his?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy, my friend." He paused. "Just be careful, Cas. It's one thing to hook up with a chick, have some fun…but when feelings get involved? That's when things get dangerous. Our lives aren't easy, and you're not exactly normal."

"Are you worried about her or me?" he said.

"Both." He looked away. Rubbed the back of his neck and offered a sheepish smile. "You're like a brother to me, and she's been through enough."

He watched her sleep as he thought it over. "So maybe it's time," he said.

"For something good, you mean?"

He nodded, brow furrowed.

"Yeah, maybe. But guys like you and me, Cas?" Dean shook his head. "Those times usually don't happen for us."

* * *

Garth's houseboat was on a lake in Nevada, and they'd made good time with Dean driving straight through. She'd asked why they couldn't just "zap" there, but Dean had just told her to eat a lot of fiber and ask again next week. She'd decided not to pursue the issue any further.

About halfway there she'd leaned over the backseat, poked Dean on the shoulder, and asked if she could drive. The look on his face was priceless, and she'd really only asked to see his reaction. She sat back and giggled off and on for the next twenty miles. Sam snickered with her but tried to hide it. Cas didn't entirely get it, but he enjoyed the sound of her laughter so much he didn't care.

Dean, for his part, wasn't amused.

Garth and the Trans were waiting for them when they arrived the next evening. They tumbled out of the Impala, all of them stiff except for Cas, and stood on the lakeshore stretching out the kinks.

"Nice boat," Sam said. He raised his hand in an awkward wave in answer to Garth's enthusiastic greeting.

"Ahoy there!" he called from the pier. "Welcome aboard!"

"We're not aboard yet, Garth," Dean called back.

"Well what're you waiting for? We're not gettin' any younger!"

"Are y'all sure about this kid?" Layla said.

"Garth's…different, but he's one of us," Dean said. "He's all right."

"Then let's not keep the man waiting," she said.

Sam was the first one on the pier, and Garth seized him in a huge hug. Dean tried to dodge him, but Garth was ready.

"Did I mention he's a hugger?" Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Aw, Dean, you know you love it! Now you gonna introduce your friends?"

"Garth, Cas and Layla. Cas and Layla, Garth."

"Cas!" Garth wrapped his arms around the angel and squeezed. "Nice to finally meet you, a real angel!"

Cas was far too nonplussed to say anything.

He turned to Layla next and let out a low whistle as he looked her up and down. "Girrrl, you got me on my  _knees_!"

It surprised a genuine laugh out of her, and she was the only one of the four to return his hug with enthusiasm. "Where did you find this guy?" she asked Sam and Dean.

"If you figure it out, let us know so we can send him back," Dean said.

"Such a kidder, Dean. Come on in, you guys. Kevin and Linda are inside. Don't like to have 'em out in the open, you know." Garth gestured for them to follow him down the pier and into the spacious boat docked at one of the last berths.

Kevin jumped to his feet as soon as they entered, and his mother hovered nearby, a watchful look on her face.

Layla couldn't hide her surprise. "You're just a kid," she said before she could stop herself.

Kevin scowled. "I'm young, but I'm not a kid. Do you have any idea what I've been through in the last year? You try being a prophet and see—"

"Whoa, hey! I'm sorry." She held up a hand. "I just meant…it must suck being the chosen one when you should be in freshman English."

"Oh," he said and relaxed. "Tell me about it." He smiled. Shoved his hands in his pockets. "I think it'll be okay, though. With the key we can close the gates, and if we do that this'll all be over."

"I've got it," she said. She started to reach into her bag for it, but he stopped her.

"No, don't. You have to keep it."

"Me? Why me?"

"The tablet's pretty specific."

She blinked at him. "What are you talking about? Specific about what?"

"About you. You were born on a night the stars fell from the sky, right?"

"I…there was a meteor shower the night I was born, yeah." She glanced at Cas.

"I mentioned it to Sam and Dean. I didn't realize it was significant."

"You're name's Layla," Garth said, "like the Clapton tune."

"I think we've established that," she said.

"It says that, too," Kevin said. "Named for a song and born the night the stars fell from the sky. That's you, and you have the key. Just like it said you would."

Suddenly her legs wouldn't support her anymore, but Garth pushed a chair beneath her before she hit the deck. "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she said for the second time in two days.

"Oh,  _Heathers_ ," Garth said. "I love that movie!"


	8. Everything

**...There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.**  
Homer, _Iliad_

"Here," Linda Tran said, holding out a glass of water. "You look like you could use this."

Layla took it with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks," she said. "I'm Layla, by the way. We weren't really introduced before."

"Linda Tran. Kevin is my son."

"What's that like?" she said.

Linda cast a glance over at Kevin. He was showing the boys his latest translations from the tablet, and they all seemed to have forgotten about Layla completely; Garth had stepped out to get food for all of them. Linda shrugged and shook her head. "It's overwhelming, of course. I love my son. I want him to be safe. We didn't ask for this prophet business, but now…what choice do we have? So we do the best we can, and we figure out a way to stay safe."

"You think he'll be safe with the gates closed?"

"Safer," she clarified. "The angels still want him."

Layla stared into the water's shifting surface. "I have to tell you, Linda. I have a few doubts."

She went still. Pulled up a chair and sat down. "You said you'd help."

"I know. I want to. I want you and your son to be safe, too. Hell,  _I_  want to be safe. You think I want to haul this nasty key around with me for the rest of my life?"

Linda eyed her. "Plus there's Cas."

"Hum?" Layla said, expression blank and innocent. "What about Cas?"

"Oh, please. It doesn't take a prophet to see what's happening there." Her face creased. "Angels aren't safe, Layla. They might look human, but they aren't. Be careful."

She glanced over at the group huddled around Kevin just as Cas looked up. Their eyes met.

 _Are you okay?_  he seemed to ask.

 _I'm fine. Keep working,_  she said.

He nodded and bent his head back to the tablet. She turned back in time to catch Linda's knowing look, and she flushed. "Thank you," she said. "You're kind to care. You're also right, and if I could undo it…" She gave a helpless little shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't."

"Love conquers all," Linda said.

Layla's mouth quirked. "People misunderstand that phrase. They think it means love conquers all obstacles, like it can overcome anything. But it really means love conquers all reason and sanity. We go crazy for love."

She patted Layla's hand. "I know, dear. That's exactly what I meant."

The two women sat quietly for a time, both brooding on their own long thoughts. Finally Linda said, "You said you have doubts about closing the gates."

"Oh," Layla said as she swallowed a sip of water, "you'll probably think it's silly. The boys did."

"Which boys?"

"Sam and Dean."

"You didn't mention your doubts to Cas?"

"I haven't had time."

"Hhmm. Well, let's hear them."

Feeling sheepish, she told Linda what she'd been thinking about the damned. She'd thought about it more during the trip to Nevada, and she couldn't wrap her head around the problem. Where  _would_  they go? Had the tablet addressed the issue? Linda didn't know, but she said something surprising:

"I've thought of that too, and it worries me."

"Has Kevin said anything?"

"No," Linda said. "I haven't asked him."

"Has Kevin said anything about what?" Kevin said from across the small room.

Dean cast a look over his shoulder. "Is this about the damned again?" he said.

"Don't take that tone with me, Dean Winchester," Linda said. "Just because it's an inconvenient problem you don't want to deal with doesn't mean it isn't an actual problem. Kevin, honey, the tablet says once Hell's gates are closed, nothing can get out, right?"

"Yeah…?" he said.

"Does it say if anything can get  _in_?"

Kevin frowned. Flipped through his notebook. "It just says 'sealed forever.' It doesn't really specify. This isn't an exact science, Mom."

Layla rose and tried to pace, but the space was too small and too full of people. She bumped into Sam and two chairs before she gave it up as no good. "What you're saying is we don't know," she said. "We have no idea what will happen to the damned if we lock the doors to Hell."

"This is the translated Word of God, Layla," Cas said. "It's not  _wrong_."

"It just gives the spell, Cas. It doesn't say to do it."

"Come on, Layla," Dean said. "Of course it does! Who wouldn't want Hell sealed up? Trust me, I've been there: it's no good."

"It's  _Hell_ , Dean. It exists to be no good."

"You're new here, so I'm gonna give you a little advice," Dean said. "When someone offers you a way to end the fight you've been in since you were three years old, you take it. Understand? This is our chance! We do this, it's over. We're done. We  _retire_. You know how many Hunters get to retire? Not many!"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know my losses don't compare to yours. I know my worst day was a picnic in the park compared to your average Saturday afternoon, but stop and think! If we do this and we're wrong, what will happen? Every fucking bad thing that has a place to go when it dies  _stays here_. You won't be able to retire. You'll be up to your eyeballs in Charlie Mansons and baby killers!"

They were toe to toe, and even though he topped her by nearly four inches, she didn't seem the least bit intimidated by his height or his anger. Sam glanced at Cas, hoping he'd intervene, but he seemed more fascinated than anything. Sometimes strong displays of human emotion had that effect on him. Sam stepped forward and grabbed his brother's shoulder.

"Dean, calm down," he said. "Maybe it's worth considering."

Dean rounded on him, and Sam held up his hands. "Look, I get where you're coming from, I do. I've been there, too, remember? I want it closed as badly as you do. I want a normal life, too." Pain flickered across his face, but he shoved it aside. "What if she's right, though? Just what if?"

Sam's reasonable tone seemed to deflate Dean a little. He cast Layla a begrudging frown before he glanced at Kevin. "Does it say in there to do the spell?"

Kevin had been flipping through his notebook the entire time they'd been arguing. Now he looked up with a stricken expression. "It doesn't say  _not_  to do it," he said.

* * *

They decided to put the discussion on hold until after they'd eaten, so once Garth got back with food they filled him in on Linda and Layla's theory as well as Kevin's discoveries. He whistled, agreed it was worth further consideration, and held up four huge bags from KFC. "White meat or dark?"

They ate in silence. Cas studied Kevin's notebooks. Tension hummed in the air like a live wire, and one part of Layla was sorry she'd brought up the issue at all. She missed the easy camaraderie they'd had on the road. Another part of her knew she'd had no choice, and Dean would just have to get over being pissy about it.

When they'd finished and the trash was stowed away, Garth settled in his chair again and fixed them all with a steely eye that was incongruous to his whip-thin frame. "Now. Let's try this again. What sort of issues do we have against shutting the gates of Hell?"

And they were off. Things didn't quite reach the point they had the first time, but as the debate got hotter, Garth raised his hands in a quelling gesture. "Time out!" he said. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"No," Layla said and fell back in her chair. "You're right." She shook her head. Then, "We need to take a vote."

Dean shot her an incredulous look. "A vote?"

"Yes, a vote. You can't close the gates without me. You can't do the spell without Kevin. We all have to be on board, right? So, a vote. We pass out slips of paper. One mark for yes, we close them. Two marks for no, we don't. Simple majority rules."

"I think it's a pretty good idea," Garth said. "Do we all agree to abide by the vote, whatever the outcome?"

Dean threw his hands up. "I can't believe this! What if the vote says no?"

"We have to agree, Dean. Majority rules. Are you in or out?"

"Come on, Dean," Sam said. "It's a fair compromise."

He growled and grumbled, but at last he capitulated. "Fine. We'll vote."

Linda passed out scraps of papers and pens.

Cas refused. "I'll abide by whatever you decide, but I don't feel right voting," he said.

"I'm gonna abstain, too," Garth said. "I think you both make really good points, and I'm on the fence about the whole thing."

It earned them both glares from Dean, but overall the process went smoothly. Garth collected the slips in his hat and counted them out. "Okay," he said. "That's one, two, three for close it and one, two for don't. Simple majority?"

Layla nodded. "Looks like we're closing the gates."

A pause.

Then, "Layla," Dean said.

She waved it away. "It's okay, Dean," she said. "I understand. I said I would go along with the vote, and I will." She smiled a little. "I think I need a walk, though, to clear my head. I've got that hex bag thingie, so I'll be safe from Crowley's guys, right?"

"Yep," Garth said. "Just don't wander too far. It's easy to get lost out here. Not a lot of lights."

"Thanks," she said. "I won't be gone long."

There was another silence after she left, and this time it was Linda who broke it. "Cas, dear?" she said.

"Yes, Mrs. Tran?"

"Now is when you go after her."

"Oh," he said. "Thank you."

"Any time."

* * *

She hadn't gotten far, and he caught up with her quickly. It was a beautiful night, clear and open and cold, with a huge round moon reflected on the lake's still surface. She walked along the shore and pitched rocks in to watch the molten ripples.

"Hello," he said.

She smiled at his formality. "Hello."

"Should I have voted?"

"You have to do as your conscience dictates, Cas."

"I felt I should abstain."

"You don't have to explain," she said. "I'm not angry." She stopped. Hugged herself and shivered a little. "Let's sit," she said.

"I should have gotten a blanket," he said.

She grinned. "So zap back and get one."

He did. She laughed when he reappeared. "Cas, I was joking."

"Oh. Should I take it back?"

"No! For garden seeds, Cas, you're so literal it's adorable. Just spread it out and sit down."

He pulled her to him as they settled on the blanket and he wondered when touching her like this—an arm draped over her shoulder, fingers entwined through hers—had become so easy and so necessary.

"Don't worry, Layla," he said, his voice rough against her hair, "my Father is infallible. The spell comes from Him. I know we're doing the right thing."

"Oh, Cas," she breathed, "I know God is infallible. Or I would know if I completely believed in God. But…angels aren't. Humans aren't. An angel wrote this down and a human translated it and now humans are interpreting it." She shrugged a little. "There's plenty of room for error here."

"Yet you'll do it anyway?"

A crease formed between her brows. "When my family died I lost most of the faith I had," she said. "Not just faith in God, which was never all that strong to begin with because I'm just a wacky Pagan sorta girl anyway, but faith in…everything. Love. Trust. Friendship. All of that sappy stuff you read about in Hallmark cards."

She shifted so that she could see his face, and he hers. "This little group you have is seriously dysfunctional, Cas, but I've never seen this type of love. Of loyalty. To hell and back, literally. It means something." Her lips curved. "Maybe you've managed to fix me a bit after all."

"Ah," he said. "I'd stopped trying."

"That's usually when it happens."

"Are you cold?" he said as she shivered again.

She grinned at him through teeth just beginning to chatter. "A little."

He frowned. Stripped out of his jacket and overcoat. Wrapped them around her. "Where is your coat?"

"The motel, remember?" she said as she shoved her arms into the jackets and pushed the sleeves up.

"Oh." He looked away with a frown. "I'm sorry. I acted hastily, and—"

"Right, Cas. In the future, let me pack before you save my life."

He looked back, expression earnest. "I will."

"Oh, sweetie." She sighed. "Sarcasm, I'm sorry." She touched his chin and turned his face to hers. Planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "You saved my life, Cas. You go ahead and do that however you think is best, okay?"

He reached up to brush the hair back from her face. "Do you remember when I told you I don't know what  _pretty_  means?"

Her first instinct was, of course, to tease him, but this was Cas, and he had such a sweet, soulful look in his eyes…so she just smiled and nodded. "I remember."

"I think it's because the concept is too small. Too ordinary. I've existed a very long time. I've seen beauty both primal and refined. Volcanoes. Supernovas. Sunsets. Bees."

He paused. His gaze sharpened and intensified. "There's a way you smile at me…it lights up your eyes and creates a dent here." He brushed his thumb across her cheek just at the edge of her mouth. "It's a rare smile. When I see it," he said, "it's like I'm seeing true beauty for the first time."

She felt her face flame as her breath caught in her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was the most unexpected and lovely thing she had ever heard. She stared at him. "Castiel," she whispered, at a loss, "you smooth-tongued Casanova."

Her mouth quirked. The dimple he'd mentioned winked at him. She cleared her throat. "Castiel Silvertongue, that's what I'll call you," she said. "You're a regular bard, you are."

"I knew a bard once," he said.

"Did you? Tell me," she said. She wasn't really listening, and as he talked she slid up into his lap. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, and she pressed small kisses along his jaw.

"That is…extremely…distracting," he said.

"I'm sorry," she murmured against his ear. "Should I stop?"

"I—no," he said. "Don't.

"Good. I don't want to."

"Layla?" he said a few minutes later.

"Yes, love?"

"Did you want to hear about the bard?"

"No, love."

He let out a shaky breath. "What do you want?"

She leaned back to meet his clouded blue gaze. Her smile was different now: lazy and sensuous. "Let's see if you can do more with that tongue of yours than just  _talk_."

* * *

In the moonlight she took his breath away. Her skin was all silver and pearl, silk and velvet, snow and honey. He couldn't get enough of her. The taste. The texture. The sounds she made, gasps and sighs and soft little moans. The way she said his name was the sweetest prayer he'd ever heard, and he didn't care if the thought were blasphemous.

He couldn't get enough of her. She intoxicated him, left him dizzy and joyful and aching. He could hear the stars singing above them, the lake lapping the shore nearby, a whippoorwill telling its nightly tale…but none of it compared to his girl without a name.

And all of that was just when  _he_  was touching  _her_.

At some point—and he couldn't remember when, he to whom every moment in time was like a perfect diorama that he could revisit any time he wished—she pushed him away with a low laugh and grinned at him in a way that sent dark shivers up his spine.

"My turn," she said. He remembered that much clearly, though after that things became a blur again. A blur of exquisite sensation and something else. Something more than the physical pleasure though the physical pleasure was amazing holy  _God_  what was she doing with her  _mouth_  surely that was a cardinal sin…?!

Then she was above him, filling his vision, her soft hair falling around him like dark, sweet-smelling rain. "Sit up," she said, a gentle command.

He did, and they were facing each other again as they'd been…how long ago? Judging by the sky, a while. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth playing over hers like a favorite, familiar song.

"Cas," she whispered when their mouths parted. Just that. Just his name. An urgent plea. A declaration. Everything.

He thought he'd been prepared, but he hadn't been. Not really. The wet silken  _heat_  of her was almost more than he could stand, but her gentle laugh brought him back to reality. Their eyes met. Locked. Time seemed to stop before it began to tick again, then faster and faster.

Now it was he who said  _her_  name, just once, and the sound of it echoed throughout the spheres.


	9. Dark Dreams

**What fates impose, that men must needs abide;**  
**It boots not to resist both wind and tide.**  
William Shakespeare,  _3 Henry VI_ , 4.3.60

Crowley was brooding. There was no other word for it. It might seem a natural state for the King of Hell, but honestly he wasn't much of a brooder. He enjoyed his job and had, on the whole, a cheerful disposition, but this business with Layla had changed all that.

He sighed. Stared into the fire. Sipped his drink. The reek of angel had been all over that motel room, and poor stupid Basil's description had just confirmed it: Layla was with Castiel. How he'd found her was anyone's guess, but it was too late now. He'd have her with the Winchesters, and they'd have her with the prophet, and it was all downhill from here.

"Hey, boss," Brody said from the doorway. "You still wasting good Scotch trying to get drunk?"

"A demon can dream," he said.

"No, actually, we can't." He ambled into the room and stopped by Crowley's chair. He wouldn't sit until Crowley gave him leave. That was one thing Crowley liked about Brody: he was a good employee, knew his place, but he wasn't subservient.

And he'd been the one to find Layla.

"Sit down, man. You make me jumpy when you hover like that. Drink?" He held up the bottle, but Brody shook his head.

"You planning to tell me what's been on your mind since that motel?"

"Ah, Brody. You're very young, aren't you?"

"In the grand scheme of things, I guess so. Why?"

Crowley laughed, a low, chilling sound that scraped the nerves raw. "It explains why you didn't recognize the stench of angel."

"Angel? What—?"

"Our girl's little friend," he said, "is none other than the angel Castiel, recently returned from a stint in sunny Purgatory. I'm sure you've heard of him."

Brody fell silent. "I think I'll take that drink now," he finally said.

"Good man," Crowley said.

* * *

Cas' voice cut through the murkiness of the dream and she struggled to wake from it. Her eyes opened. Toward the East the sky was lightening. His eyes were deep and concerned. "Layla," he said. "Layla, dawn is coming. We have to go."

"No," she said, "that's the nightingale, not the lark. It's not yet near day."

He frowned for a moment, then his expression cleared. "I know that one," he said. "Shakespeare."

"Mmhhmm," she said. "Not the best choice, though." She made a face. "Oh well. Good morning anyway." She kissed him and started to get up, but he pulled her back down.

"Not just yet," he said.

"Ha," she said as she curled up against him again. "I see how it is."

"You spoke in your sleep," he said after a quiet moment.

"What did I say?"

"I don't know. I couldn't understand. You didn't sound happy."

"I was dreaming," she said. "It was weird."

"Tell me," he said.

She looked beyond him, her eyes going hazy as she struggled to remember. "There were these…voices. Three voices, but…one. Three women. The same woman." She shook her head. Her gaze focused. "I don't know. I told you it was weird. Just some weird dream," she said, dismissing it with a flick of her fingers.

It was cold in these last minutes before dawn, but they'd made a cozy nest from the blanket and their clothes. The combined heat of their bare skin created a cocoon of warmth, and she snuggled closer. He offered her a shy smile and ran his hand up the length of her back.

"Layla?" he said, voice hesitant.

"Hhmm?" she said. Her eyes had closed and she was nearly dozing with her forehead fitted in the space between his chin and his collarbone. She couldn't remember the last time she was so content.

"About last night…?"

That got her attention. She didn't move, but he felt her body stiffen slightly in his arms. "What about last night?" she said softly.

He shifted a bit. Her eyes went wide and she laughed, that sweet, gentle laugh he loved. "I was just wondering if we could do it again," he said.

" _Again_?" she said. "Do all angels have such stamina, or are you a special case?"

"I've never had the occasion to ask."

Her laugh turned into a gasp and after that she had very little breath left for conversation.

* * *

"Oh, come  _on!_ " Dean said. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"You were the one encouraging him to get laid," Sam said.

"Yeah, but I didn't know he'd be the damn Energizer Bunny!"

"It's a beautiful and natural thing, Dean," Garth said.

"It's ridiculous, that's what it is!"

"Is that really…um…normal?" Kevin said.

"No!" Dean and Sam said together.

"Well…" Garth said. "What?" he said at their disbelieving stares. "I got moves. It's all about mind over matter."

"Whoa, whoa. None of us need to hear any more about your  _matter_ , Garth," Dean said.

"If you four are finished  _gawking_ ," Linda said from behind them, causing them to exchange guilty looks and Kevin, for one, to turn bright red, "we should really finish packing the cars. We'll need to leave as soon as those two are, er, ready. If she can still walk, that is."

" _Mom_! Jesus!"

She tossed a bag at him. "Get to work, kid, or there's more where that came from."

It was another half hour before Cas and Layla joined them. Dean had plenty of smart ass comments ready, but one glance at his friend's face stopped him. Damn if the little twerp didn't look happy. Happy as hell. Dean shook his head.  _Happy_  was so often spelled the same as  _trouble_  in his book that he didn't trust it for a second, but he didn't want to be the guy to take that look off Cas' face.

"What?" Sam said under his breath. "Nothin'?"

"Nah, man," he said. "It'd be like kickin' a puppy."

"Sorry we're late," Layla said. "Did we miss anything?"

"We were…occupied," Cas said.

She cast him a look, and Dean held up a hand. "That's okay, Cas, we don't need details."

"You're just in time for the powwow," Garth said. He unfurled a map across the Impala's hood and began pointing out landmarks as he spoke. "We're here, on this side of the lake. Kevin said it doesn't matter where we go to do the spell. The gates are metaphysical, not an actual place."

"We really just need a big open area that's easily defensible," Sam said.

"Exactly," Garth said. "I was thinking either here or maybe here."

"What about down here?" Layla said. "We'd have the high ground."

"No," Garth said. "See that line there? It's another ridge that snakes along to the West. We'd be boxed in if anything went wrong."

"I like this one," Dean said and pointed to the first area Garth had indicated. "It's isolated, but it looks like it has good visibility. Once we get there we can tell for sure, but from this I think we could do the spell here and it would be pretty defendable."

"I agree," Garth said. "It's only about an hour's drive. All goes well we'll have Hell closed by lunch!"

Despite the group's general pessimistic nature, this idea seemed to cheer them, and the mood was lighter as they rolled up the map and packed the last few things into the two cars. Layla borrowed a fresh shirt from Linda and was just disembarking after a quick shower when she almost ran into Kevin.

"Oh!" she said. Her comb bounced off the deck and into the water. "Damn," she said as she watched it sink.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay. You just startled me. Are you all right? You look…worried."

He grabbed her arms and pushed her the few steps back inside. "Listen, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I have to tell someone, so I guess it might as well be you. I'm the one. I voted no."

She stared at him. " _What_?"

"There are things in that tablet I don't understand. Things about you and about the gates. What if you're right about the damned? I assumed my mom would vote no, too, since she agreed with you. When Cas and Garth abstained, I thought it would be three to two the other way, with Sam and Dean voting yes. I thought we wouldn't have to do this."

"Kevin!" She held onto to him the way he was holding her and gave him a quick shake. "What are you trying to tell me? Did you read something—?"

"No, that's just it. I've read exactly what I've told you I've read, but it's all so weird and murky and archaic."

"Okay, calm down. Just breathe." She turned away. Back. "You know there's nothing else for it, Kevin. We voted. We agreed."

"We can't do it without you. That's one thing I know for sure."

Her face creased. "What are you suggesting?"

"If you say the word, Cas'll get you out of here. Just tell him you don't want to do it, and you two can be gone."

"Kevin," she said, her tone careful and measured and each word spoken with perfect enunciation, "I know we've only just met, but let me explain something to you: I gave those people out there my word. That means something to me. I would hope that your word would mean something similar to you."

Ashamed, he dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know," she said, softening. "I'm scared, too." She held out her hand, and after a moment he grabbed her palm in a tight grip. "Come on," she said. "They'll be wondering where we are."

"Layla," he said with a tug on her arm to stop her.

She turned, a question in her dark eyes and one forming on her lips. His expression silenced her.

"Just be careful," he said.

"I'm always careful, Kevin," she said.

"Yeah," he muttered, "that's why you took a job from a demon, stole the key to Hell, picked up a hitchhiker, and fell in love with an angel."

She glanced back. "Did you say something?"

"Nope, not a thing!"

Cas noticed the shadows in her eyes as she and Kevin rejoined them. He touched her cheek, a featherlight brush of fingers against skin. "Don't worry," he said. "Everything is going to work out."

She tried to muster a smile. "Of course it will," she said.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Dean said. "If you two are done making puppy dog eyes at each other, the world needs us to save it again. Wanna join us?"

* * *

"It's bad enough that she's with an angel! I hate angels. What makes it worse is that she's with the Winchesters' pet angel, so that by now she's with the prophet. And they'll have one of those damn hex bags on her so now I can't track her!" Crowley said. It was the fourth or fifth time he'd said it; Brody had last count; but this time he punctuated it by tossing his crystal glass into the fire and watching it shatter.

Brody sighed and sat back in his chair. "Boss, can I clue you in on something?"

Crowley eyed him. "I'm not sure I like your tone."

He waved Crowley's irritation away and fixed him with a remarkably penetrating glare. "You've never been able to track her, boss. None of us have. Think about it."

"What the hell are you on about? Of course we…" Crowley paused. Roused himself. "We tracked her to—"

"No. That demon happened to see her and the angel at that overlook. It was pure luck. Same with the roadblock. We tore half the country apart looking for her. Name one person we've had to search for the old-fashioned way. Just one."

There was a long, thoughtful silence.

"I'm waiting," Brody said. He leaned forward. "It would've saved us a lot of trouble if some low-level demon had just possessed her. I'm sure you thought of that, though."

"I didn't want her possessed," Crowley muttered with little conviction. "The brain inside the meatsuit—"

"Is a  _human_  brain, boss. Human. No offense, but you left the human in charge of the meat, and now the human's stolen your key, hooked up with an angel, and run off with the Winchesters and their prophet. And I have to tell you, Crowley: this human is no ordinary human, no matter how you slice it."

Crowley's normally ruddy complexion was ashen. He shook his head once, a quick jerk of denial, before he fell back in his chair. "We have to find her. We can't track her or the angel."

"No," Brody agreed. "Luckily, though, we've got an angel of our own…don't we, boss?"

A flicker of interest passed across Crowley's face. He stirred. "Samandriel," he said.

"The very same. What say, boss? Nothing like torturing an angel to liven up a dull evening, yeah?"

Crowley watched his lieutenant through shrewd, contemplative eyes as he poured another drink. Sipped it. Brody didn't fidget or look away. Crowley finished his drink, rose. Straightened his cuffs and smoothed his tie. "Well, then," he said, "let's go see if the pretty little cloud hopper can lead us to our girl and her angelic boy toy."

* * *

Dean had the Impala's windows rolled down and the wind tugged at Layla's hair as they drove. She watched the scenery scroll past outside, but none of it really registered. Foreboding hung over her dark as ravens' wings, and she couldn't seem to shake it. Snatches of her dream from last night kept breaking through, clear and bright as day, only to sink back into Lethe's murky waters.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Guys, can I ask you a question?" she called over the wail of the wind and roar of Metallica.

Dean turned the stereo down and glanced over his shoulder. "If it's about saving the world, don't worry. We've done this before."

She smiled a little at his bravado. "Sort of, I guess, but not exactly. It's about destiny. Fate."

Cas' brow furrowed. "I didn't realize you believed in such things," he said.

"I don't, not really."

"Good," Dean said, "because it's all a crock. There's no such thing."

"Come on, Dean," Sam said, "you know that's not completely true."

"You two changed your fates, right?" she said. "Dean, you were destined to be Michael's vessel, but you refused. And Sam, you became Lucifer's vessel, but you destroyed him rather than letting him use you. So you beat it. Both of you beat it."

Sam and Dean shared a look. "Why this sudden obsession with destiny?" Sam said.

"I don't know," she said, her eyes on the scenery again. "It's just something I've been thinking about. All the things that had to happen to get us here."

"There is such a thing as fate, Layla," Cas said, "but humans don't have to be defined by it. There is also free will."

"Free will," she murmured.

"It's kind of our battle cry," Dean said. "Free will trumps fate every damn time. Keep that in mind and you can't lose."

He said it with his usual cocky levity, but when their eyes met in the rearview mirror she knew he was deadly serious. She nodded, and his gaze returned to the road.

Cas watched her with mounting concern, and her words from the morning came back to haunt him. Three voices. One. Three women. One. Layla had dreamt of the Moirai, the Fates, the Spinners of men's destinies.

There were only a handful of reasons a human would dream of the Sisters, and there wasn't one that Cas could recall that didn't fill him with the foreign chill of fear.


	10. The Key

**Through me is the way to the city dolent;**  
**Through me is the way to eternal dole;**  
 **Through me the way among people lost.**

**[...]**

**Before me there were no created things,**  
**Only eterne, and I eternal last.**  
 **All hope abandon, ye who enter in!**  
Dante Alighieri, _The Divine Comedy_

"What is that?" Layla asked as she peered over Cas' shoulder.

He added a finishing flourish to one of the symbols and leaned back to inspect his work. "It's called a Devil's Trap," he said. "A demon can pass neither in nor out. We'll summon Crowley here, and it will keep him from causing trouble."

"That little scribble is gonna keep Crowley from causing trouble?" she said.

"It's a very powerful scribble," he said in his most earnest voice.

"Great," she said. "Let's hope it lives up to the hype."

"Everybody know the plan?" Dean said as they assembled again.

"It's an insane plan," Layla said for the tenth time.

"We have to have Crowley here. He'll know the second we start the ritual, and he'll arrive with an army. If we summon him first—"

"I know, Sam. I get it. It just gives me the whim whams."

"Yeah," Sam said with a sympathetic grimace. "I'm not completely thrilled by the idea either."

"It's not too late for me to take you back," Cas said to Linda. "You would be safer at the boat."

"And leave my son alone? No way. I'm staying."

"Give it up, Cas. Here," Dean said and handed Linda a sword. "Remember: stick 'em with the pointy end."

"All right," Garth said, "places, everybody. Let's get this party started!"

"Really, boys, a party? I'll just assume my invitation got lost in the mail. Otherwise I might have to be insulted."

They froze. Layla glanced at Dean. He shook his head.

"I hope you don't mind," Crowley said as they turned to face him, "but I brought a few extra guests."

A boy in a garish white and red striped outfit knelt at his feet and a tall blond stood to his right. The plain behind him was a writhing black mass as far as they could see. An army. An endless army of demons.

"We stick to the plan," Dean said. "Kevin, go. Start the ritual. Sam, summon him. He's still less trouble if he's in that trap. Garth, Cas, you're with me."

"Who's the kid?" Layla said.

"Samandriel," Cas said. "He's an angel."

"Layla, what the hell are you doing?" Brody called over the hissing and rustling of the demon host. "You know if you just give him the key we can all go home and play nice again. I don't think anyone here wants you dead."

Crowley raised his hand. "I wouldn't mind her dead. She's caused me no end of trouble."

"He's your brother?" she said to Cas, ignoring Crowley and Brody.

"Yes. One of the few left who still…has regard for me."

"Go," she told him. "Help Dean. I'll be fine."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You'll stay with  _me_  and let your best friend die?  _Go_ , Cas!"

He cast a desperate look over his shoulder. The demons were advancing slowly, waiting on word from Crowley, but once he gave it Dean would be overrun. "At least let me take you to Kevin," he said.

"No, Cas. I have business here."

Their eyes locked and held. "Go," she said.

"I'll be back for you."

"Damn straight."

"Did you see that, boss?" Brody said.

"I think I did. It looks like our Layla has something to lose after all. Wonders never do cease."

"Let the angel go, Crowley," she said.

"Oh, ah, let me think.  _No_! You stole my key. You made a fool of me. Now you're trying to imprison me in that  _pit_  for all time! This angel is my leverage, and I like him just where he is, thanks."

Chanting had started behind her, two different rituals, Kevin's just beginning and Sam's reaching a crescendo. The rock quaked beneath her feet. Crowley turned to his army and gave the order. "Kill them!"

She dove for Samandriel, but a wall of fire sprang up between them. Brody laughed, low and mocking. "Do you know what that is, Layla? Holy fire. The little angel is trapped like a bug in a jar now. He's not going anywhere."

"Yeah?" she said. Crowley let out a howl and disappeared. "Well so is your boss!"

Brody wasn't afraid. He laughed and shook his head. "A Devil's Trap. Cute. With all these demons, how long do you think before someone breaks him out of it?"

"Brody, come on. This is ridiculous. Why are you even here? Don't you know that every demon on earth is about to be sucked into Hell?"

"Not gonna happen, kiddo."

She smiled a little. "Maybe not to you. Maybe not if you're careful."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've seen your ambition. I've seen how it chafes you to work for a guy like Crowley. What if you didn't have to? What if you were the only one left? Mr. Big, all alone upstairs?"

"Great. And how am I gonna make any deals with Hell shut down?"

"Who says you have to traffic in souls?" she said with a little shrug. "You have all the connections: drugs, women, guns. There's money to be made, Brody. You just have to make it."

He eyed her. "You're singin' my song, little girl."

"Oh, baby," she said and sidled closer, "I've always sung your song; just now I know the tune."

He laughed again and she took another slow step toward him. "I hate this, by the way," he said, pointing toward her hair. "It doesn't suit you."

"Just like playing toady to a pompous ass like Crowley doesn't suit  _you_."

"Ohh, Layla," he crooned, "the games you play. Tell me what you're offering."

"Simple: we let you go. You free the angel. You promise none of us ever see you again. We close the gates, and our business is done." She brushed her hands together. "We all walk away."

His mouth curved. "I could almost believe you, Layla. Almost. Except for one thing."

He moved faster than she would've thought possible, and before she could blink he was on her. He had his arm around her throat like a vise and she couldn't breathe. "Why do you give a fuck about some angel?" he said, his voice a primal growl in her ear.

She was tall and strong, but Brody was big…and a demon, with all a demon's strength. She was no match for him. He squeezed, and though her nails drew blood and she even came away with a clump of his hair with some skin still attached, black spots started to float across her vision.

She bit him and the taste of copper filled her mouth. She clamped down hard and tossed her head, ripping and tearing with her teeth. He bellowed, but still it wasn't enough. Layla felt her limbs going weak. His screams sounded a long way off, and she thought she could hear the ocean. Wasn't that odd? The ocean was so far away….

Suddenly Brody was gone and she was falling, but strong arms caught her before she could hit the ground. Air gushed into her lungs like the sweetest ambrosia, and she took great gulps of it through her bruised windpipe. It hurt, but she didn't care. He touched her throat and the pain was gone. She looked up to meet livid blue eyes that glowed with holy light.

He said nothing. She straightened, and he turned to Brody. Pressed his hand against the demon's forehead and sent his Grace into him like an arrow. Brody let out a blood curdling scream that seemed to last forever before it stopped. No fade. Just…there and gone. Sound and silence. Cas pushed the body into the ring of holy fire and stepped over it.

Layla followed him on shaking legs. The angel Samandriel was curled in a ball, and he didn't look good. She tried to speak, but failed. Cleared her throat. "Cas…?" she managed in a weak croak. "Castiel, is he…?"

"He is greatly weakened by his ordeal," he said.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Samandriel?" she said. "Hey, kid? We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

The angel stirred. Uncurled into a limp comma and stared unblinking at the sky.

She frowned down at him in dismay. "What do we do?" she said.

"I can carry him."

"Samandriel," he said, "can you hear me? It is Castiel." His voice was deeper and more resonant than she'd ever heard it. She shivered.

The young face turned in Cas' direction. "Castiel?" he whispered.

"Yes. Are you well enough to move?"

He said nothing. His head slowly rotated the other way, and when his eyes fell on Layla they went wide. "The…key," he said.

Her face twisted with guilt. "I guess they asked you about that. Yeah, I'm the one who took it." She looked around. Things were getting ugly down in demon land, and they were standing up here shooting the breeze like they had all the time in the world. "Can we talk about this later? We're sort of in the middle of something here, and—"

"The key!" he said again, louder.

"You said that. If you wanna see it, it's over there. Cas can take us."

"No…can't…!"

"It's all right, brother," Cas said. "It will take you time to recover. I will carry us all." Cas reached for him and held out his other hand to Layla.

"Castiel,  _no_!" Samandriel said.

But it was too late. Castiel's Grace hit a wall of power and rebounded like a bomb going off. Angels, demons, and humans were thrown through the air like so much detritus. The world went dark, and the Gates of Hell, summoned to the earthly plane by an interrupted ritual, opened.

* * *

It was so dark when Layla opened her eyes that for a panicked moment she thought she'd been struck blind. She squeezed her lids shut and rubbed them. Opened her eyes again and looked around. Finally she noticed a light, small and unsteady, far to her left. It looked like the flickering flame of a lamp, which was odd. Honestly, though, those boys could have anything in that trunk of theirs.

She wiggled her toes. Checked for broken bones or other major injuries. Finding none, she slowly dragged herself to her feet and took a tentative step toward the light. "Hello?" she called into the darkness. Had she been out for hours? It was barely noon when the explosion happened, and now it was pitch black. Last night the moon had been full, but the sky above her was empty, no moon, no stars…just dark.

"Cas?" she said. "Samandriel?" She cleared her throat and coughed away some of the dust. Her mouth was dry and she longed for a drink of water. "Dean? Can anyone hear me?" Her voice echoed back to her flat and empty.

She took another step and suddenly she was there. The light was directly in front of her. That wasn't possible; it had seemed yards and yards away, not just two slow ass steps on barely functioning legs. It was a lamp, like she'd thought, an old-fashioned oil hurricane lamp set in the window of a tiny A-frame cottage.

There had been no cottage on this plain before, of that she had no doubt. They'd scouted for miles. They'd chosen the spot partially due to its isolation. No one wanted to summon Hell's gates right into some poor schmuck's backyard.

Cas had been trying to zap them to Kevin when the explosion happened. Logical explanation: she'd been zapped, all right, just not to Kevin. Where did that leave everyone else? Were they okay? What had the blast done to the two angels?

She stood in front of the cottage and looked around. All was empty and dark except for this one sign of life. Pretty obvious what she was meant to do. With a sigh and a grumble about giving in to the inevitable, she raised her hand to knock. The door drifted open before she could touch it, and Layla stepped inside.

* * *

"C'mon, Sammy, get up!" Dean said. He punched his brother in the shoulder and the bigger man grunted.

"Dean…?" he said. A vision of his brother's face swam above him. Doubled. Tripled. Finally came into focus. "What happened? My ears…" He held a hand to his head and it came away wet. "My ears are bleeding."

"Yeah," Dean said, "mine too. Grab Garth. We gotta find Kevin and Mrs. Tran and get outta here. Big shit's goin' down, and the demons'll be back with us soon."

"What're you talking about?" Sam said. He was still shaking his head like a confused dog, but he'd managed to stand up with Dean's help.

"I'm talkin' about that, Sammy," Dean said.

He gestured with the sawed off in his hand, and Sam turned. Stumbled and nearly fell again. His mind couldn't process what his eyes were seeing. Bone and blood and flame. Shadow and smoke and fear. Chains and whips and hooks. Faces contorted into rictuses of terror. Bodies mangled and skin flayed.

He grabbed Dean's arm hard enough to bruise. "What…is that? Dean! What is that?"

"Don't look at it too long," Dean said. "It keeps changin'. It'll make you nuts, man." He tugged his brother away. "I'm serious, Sammy. Don't look. I think it's the gates. Like the actual…Abandon all hope, real life, Gates of mother fuckin' Hell, man."

"How…? How is that possible?!"

"The first part of the ritual is a summoning. The gates have to be here before we can close 'em. Here they are. Everybody else is still out, but that won't last long. That's why we gotta get movin', Sammy."

"Moving? We've gotta finish the ritual, Dean. We can't leave these things here, in our world. Remember what happened last time we opened the door to Hell? And compared to this thing, that was…well, honestly, I think that was just a little side entrance. Like the one the servants use or something."

Dean shook his head. "We can't, Sammy."

"Look, Dean, I understand you're scared. That thing scares the shit outta me, too, but—"

Dean was suddenly up in his brother's face. "This isn't about being  _scared_ , Sammy. You think I'm not about to piss my pants? Fuck yes. But I'd stay here and fight until every last one of these sons of bitches was so much dust if it meant closing those gates for good. It's not doable. You hearing me? The key is gone. When the explosion happened and time stopped, the key was what blew. No key, no ritual. We're screwed."

Sam fell back. Looked around, expression bleak, as Dean's words fell like hammer's blows. "Where's Cas? Layla?"

"I don't know. They're gone, too. And Samandriel."

He hesitated. "Dead…gone?"

Dean scowled. "I don't think so. I hope not." He paused. Shook his head. "I don't know."

Sam ran a big hand up and down his face. "Okay. All right. Let's go. We can regroup and figure out what to do back at Garth's. Cas can find us there."

"Finally, some sense. Garth's over there. Last time I checked he was still out. I'll get the Trans." He started to turn, but something in Sam's expression warned him, and he hit the ground instead. Ruby's knife flew over his head in a glittering arc, and behind him a demon died in a gout of light.

"Looks like they're waking up," Sam said.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said from the dirt.


	11. Fates, The

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for the long delay, y'all. Things suddenly got so busy for me I couldn't even find time for some simple cut and past!

**Our wills and fates do so contrary run**  
**That our devices still are overthrown;**  
 **Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.**  
Shakespeare,  _Hamlet_  (3.2.208)

The door drifted open before she could touch it, and Layla stepped inside. The only source of light was the lamp flickering in the window, and at first she thought the one room cabin was empty. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dim and she began to make out shapes. A spinning wheel in one corner, thread looped around the spindle. A loom set against the far wall, the weaving on it unfinished but, she noticed, glowing with a faint light of its own. The walls were roughhewn, and occasionally she thought they weren't wood at all, but instead made of something else. Rock? Impossible.

She took another step. "Hello?" she said.

aahh, sister…

…DAUGHTER…

_…child…_

…you have come at last.

Three voices, she thought. Three voices, but one. Just like her dream. "Who are you?" she said.

A laugh.

_who are we, she asks!_

…BETTER, DAUGHTER, TO ASK…

…who are you, sister?

"I don't understand. I know who I am."

YES, DAUGHTER, BORN THE NIGHT THE STARS FELL…

 _…_ sweet sister, named for a song…

_…foolish child, an angel's lover!_

Layla cast around in the dark, at a loss. "Ladies, please, I'm trying to understand, but you're speaking in riddles. Am I…am I dead?"

There was a vast sigh, like a wave crashing against the shore. The darkness lifted, but instead of the homely cottage Layla expected, she found herself in a palatial suite. Somewhere out of sight a fountain chimed. The floor was a dizzying pattern of black and white checkered marble. The ceiling soared above her head. On a low settee a woman lounged.

She stood, and Layla lifted her chin to keep her eyes on the woman's stern and beautiful face. She was tall and willowy with mahogany hair that fell nearly to her waist in complicated braids and coils. Her gown was gray, the style ancient, and around her neck she wore a pendant showing the three phases of the moon. Her eyes changed color constantly, and her smile was cruel, kind, and neutral by turns. At her waist was a golden girdle from which three charms hung: a spindle, a pair of scissors, and a measuring tape.

"Of course," Layla murmured. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm normally not so thick."

"You have been through a trauma, and memory dims with time. The Moirai are not so highly regarded as we once were."

Layla could hear all three voices when the woman spoke, and it took a great deal of concentration to pick out the words. "So is this your way of breaking the news of my death to me a bit more gently?"

"On the contrary, child," she said. Her fingertips danced over the scissors and her smile gave Layla a shiver. "You are most certainly not dead, though it is very foolish for one of your kind to consort with angels."

"One of my kind? You mean a human?"

"If only it were so simple, daughter," she said with gentle compassion.

Layla took a deep breath. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear what she—they—had to say, but she knew she had no choice. First, though, "Where's Cas? Samandriel?"

"Ahh, your angels." She stepped aside in a flutter of semi-transparent gray fabric and Layla surged forward only to be rebuffed by an unseen force.

The two angels were stretched out on the tile and neither one was moving. They looked dead, but she had a feeling that an angel made a far more dramatic corpse than either one of these two. "What's wrong with them? Why can't I…?" She pushed at the energy separating her from them, but she couldn't get past it.

"They are merely sleeping, sister," said the youngest of her (their) voices.

"Angels don't sleep!" she said as she spun to face her again.

"They do here." She smiled again, the cold and pitiless one. "If you want your angels, child, you will have to get them."

"How? I can't get past this…is this a forcefield? Are you  _kidding_  me?!"

She lifted an eyebrow. "We rarely joke."

There was a silence. "Sister. Daughter. Child. You who unlocked the heart of an angel. Open the door and set them free."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I am so. Fucking.  _Sick_. Of riddles!"

Her (their) face morphed into a nightmare creature. Fangs and scales and a lashing tail. "Do not provoke our Fury, little girl!" the new thing screeched in an ungodly voice. "We wear many faces. Kind or cruel, which do you wish to see?"

"Kind," she said. "I prefer kind. I'm sorry."

She advanced, and Layla fell back until the energy field stopped her. "Please," she said. The tail, poisoned tip glistening, hovered near her cheek, and she craned her neck to avoid it. "Please," she whispered.

Abruptly she shifted again, and the stern woman reappeared. "We are not to be trifled with, child. Pray remember that."

"I doubt I'll forget any time soon, ladies," she said. She took a deep breath. Glanced toward the angels. Back at the Moirai. Her eyes were dark as she remembered her conversation with Kevin that morning. Samandriel's reaction upon seeing her.  _Open the door and set them free_. She shook her head, a short jerk. "Crowley always said I was ordinary as toast."

"The current King of Hell is an arrogant fool," she said. A storm flashed through her eyes. "And now thanks to you and your angel, the Gates have been summoned but the ritual has been stopped. Unless you awaken to your destiny, the world will be overrun."

"Okay," she said with a deep breath. "Okay. This is completely nuts, but…okay." She reached toward the wall of energy again, but she knew this wasn't something she could do with her hands. She wasn't really sure  _how_  to do it, but.…

Oh.

There.

The lock. So simple. The air rippled and the energy dissipated.

"Ahh," said the Moirai in her/their dizzying triple voice, "the key!"

* * *

Dean wondered when a fight went from  _survival instinct_  to  _too dumb to know when you're beat_. He thought they were getting dangerously close to that line. The demons were legion, and they were five. Five ordinary humans with one tiny weapon. Their angel was gone. Their key was gone. They had no hope of completing the ritual.

Oh, hey, and guess what? They'd summoned the enemy some convenient reinforcements, so now they were getting it from both ends.

He tossed the knife to Sam and shot a demon in the face with a double barrel of salt. He was running low. Not only that, but the blood that dripped from the cut on his forehead was becoming a problem. Sam's left shoulder was clearly dislocated. Garth was bleeding from about twenty different places and had a broken wrist. Mrs. Tran had several broken ribs and Kevin, despite his mother's best efforts, had a nasty gash that ran nearly the entire length of his right thigh.

Dean shoved blood out of his eyes again, shook off the sickening wave of dizziness, and searched for more salt rounds. His pockets were empty. "Sammy!" he called. "I think I'm out!"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, "me too."

"Garth?"

"All out!"

"What now?" Kevin said.

They'd managed to find a makeshift bit of shelter among a rockfall created in the explosion, but they knew it wouldn't last long. Demons were throwing themselves at Crowley's Devil's Trap, and once they broke through it, the group was screwed. It was a minor miracle it had lasted this long.

Sam stabbed the next demon that managed to wiggle through the gap in the rocks. "I don't know," he said. "I think we're open to suggestions."

"Sit down, Dean," Linda said. "Let me look at your head."

"It's fine," he said.

"Sit down before you fall down, young man. Don't make me say it again."

He hated it when she got that mom tone. He made a face that only caused his head to bleed harder, but he did as she said. She ripped the sleeve off his shirt ("Hey!" he cried. "Be quiet," she told him. He did.) and fashioned a makeshift bandage from it. When she was done none of them—despite how much pain they were all in—could keep a straight face.

"That's right. Laugh it up. We're trapped between an army of demons and the Gates of Hell, our only two angel allies are missing, the key's gone poof, and I've got a shirt wrapped around my head. Ha fuckin' ha."

"Oh, Dean, if you could see yourself!" Garth said.

"You're wearing a trucker hat, Garth. You have no room to judge me."

" _Bobby's_  trucker hat, Dean, you know that," Garth said, his dignity offended.

"What would Bobby do in this situation?" Sam said.

"Say  _balls_ , tell us to quit our pansy-ass bitchin', and give those demons what for," Dean said with half a smile.

There was a small silence, a tribute. Even though Kevin and Linda had never met Bobby, they'd heard his name before and knew his importance to the three men and the Hunter community at large. Linda, a mother first, sensed a deeper level of love and reverence from the Winchesters than she'd picked up even from Garth, who idolized the man like a fallen hero.

"Balls!" Garth said with delighted conviction.

"Quit your…quit your pansy-ass bitchin'!" Linda said, earning her surprised looks all around. She laughed and shrugged.

Sam tossed the knife back to Dean and let his brother take point. "Let's give those demons what for," he said.

* * *

Layla didn't stop to ask questions. She didn't say aloud what was running through her head:  _when the fuck did I blink and end up in an episode of_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _where I'm a fucking_ living key _with some weird-ass destiny of key-dom?!_  She just let it roll over her like weird-ass destinies manifested themselves every day. She had more important things to worry about. Castiel. Samandriel. The barrier was gone, but they were still out.

She knelt beside Cas and reached for him. "Cas? Cas, it's Layla. Can you hear me?" When her fingers brushed his cheek there was a shock, a golden spark that she could see and feel that made her cry out in surprise and pain. She snatched her hand back and stared.

"What just happened?" she said as she whipped around to face the Moirai.

They were suddenly directly before her, still in their single aspect, and if she didn't know better she'd think the smile was pitying. "You are the key, daughter."

"Yeah. Yes." She swallowed and remembered not to roll her eyes. "I understand that, even though I don't really understand what it means."

There was a small silence. "If the prophet completes the ritual, you will lock the gates."

Layla blinked. "I'm sorry? You mean Kevin will read the tablet and I'll decide if I  _want_  to lock the gates, right? Because I'm a human being and I decide things."

"Child. Foolish child. You are the key. The key is a tool. If the prophet completes the ritual, you  _will_  lock the gates, because you will be compelled to do so. Does this clarify?"

"It's becoming clearer."

"There are other tablets, sister," the Moirai said. "Other locks. Now that you are made manifest, you will be sought."

"By demons," she said through a voice gone thick. Her eyes were trained on Cas' prone form. She didn't like where this was going.

"By  _all_ , daughter." The rustle of fabric as she moved closer. "It is for your protection. Yours and his. If his superiors knew.… Ah, daughter. Heaven can be cruel."

"I see," she whispered. She shoved the wetness from her cheeks with a defiant, angry gesture and turned to face them again. "What do I do now? I get the feeling you ladies don't want the gates closed. Am I right about the damned souls?"

"We cannot offer glimpses of the future, sister; however, we can offer small counsel. You are the key, and the key is a tool, but you are contained in human form. You have existed as a human for three decades."

"So I do have free will."

She let out a chilling cackle, the Crone's cackle. "Free will is a sucker's game, child. But, yes, you have the ability to choose. Small things. Tiny decisions that hardly matter in the grand tapestry."

"They must matter or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"The gates must be returned, or your plane will be overrun. That is not a glimpse; it is merely common sense. Sealing the gates would be…unwise…for many reasons. That is all we may say. You are the key, daughter. A key turns both ways."

"What about Crowley?"

She dismissed Crowley with a flick of fingers that stirred the air into a minor whirlwind. "A snake oil salesman elevated above his station. Do with him as you will." A pause. "There is another. A rightful King of Hell, locked away."

"Oh no. No way. I might be the key, but there's no way I'm touching that lock. Sorry, ladies, but Lucifer is staying in his box."

"Ah, well. We prefer the order of the old ways, you understand."

"Right." Layla frowned. Looked around. "How long have I been here? Are Sam and Dean okay? The explosion—"

"Time moves differently here, child. We will send you back when we are ready."

"Cas and Samandriel?"

"The angels also."

"What happens when they figure out what I am? Will they be safe?"

"The key protects itself, daughter."

With this last, cryptic statement, the palatial room faded. There was the dizzying sound of a wheel turning, and Layla found herself back on the plain in Nevada.

"Now?" she cried to the empty air. " _Now_  is when you're ready? We were right in the middle of a conversation! For fuck's sake!"

That was when she noticed the demons. And the Gates. Especially the Gates. She contemplated copious vomiting, but opted to run like hell instead. The demons, of course, gave chase. Where were Cas and Samandriel? The Moirai had promised to send them back, and a couple of angels would really come in handy against all these  _rampaging demons_!

In her distraction she stumbled and would have fallen and gone down, but strong arms caught and held her. That was becoming a theme lately, and though she wasn't usually the "damsel in distress" type, she thought  _maybe_  she could get used to it.

"Layla?" he said. "Where'd you come from? I almost stabbed you!"

"Dean?" she said, almost as surprised as he. She blinked. "Why the hell do you have half a shirt wrapped around your head?"


	12. The Cave

**...I need freedom now**  
**And I need to know how**  
 **To live my life as it's meant to be.**  
Mumford and Sons, "The Cave"

"Eep!" she said as Dean yanked her behind a nearby rock. She grabbed his arm to steady herself when he set her back on her feet. Unbeknownst to Layla, they were in the same small hollow he had charged out of only moments ago. The others hadn't even had a chance to follow him yet.

Now the other four stood staring at Dean and Layla like they had materialized from the ether. "Layla?" Sam said. "Where'd you come from?"

"That's what I said," Dean said.

"And then I asked him why he's wearing a shirt around his head. We had quite the moment." She knelt to catch her breath, hands braced on her knees. She felt a pang of regret for all those cheeseburgers she'd been indulging in recently. Or maybe that was just a stitch in her side.

"There were violins. It was magical."

"You two," Garth said with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Seriously, though," Dean said, "you came outta nowhere. What happened to you? Where're Cas and Alfie?"

She blinked up at him. "Who the hell is Alfie?"

Dean waved a hand. "The little guy. Samandriel."

"Why do you…? Never mind. I don't know. They said they were sending them back, too, but fuck if I know."

A demon burst through the gap in the rock and Dean stabbed it. Layla fell back. "How long have you guys been here?" she said.

"Too long," Sam said. "We're just waiting for Crowley to get free of that Devil's Trap, and then we're pretty much done. We were just about to make our last stand when you showed up."

"What do you mean  _they_?" Dean said.

"I…it's kind of a long story. The explosion. It was Cas. Cas tried to zap Sama… _Alfie_  and me, and when he did we zapped…somewhere else."

"Where?" Kevin said.

Her gaze zeroed in on him. He was filthy and pale, but beneath the grime was the steady glow of the prophet. She let out a little sigh. "Have you finished the ritual?" she said even though she knew the answer.

"No," he said. "We can't. We lost the key."

She looked away. Back. Their eyes held and locked, and across the dimness of the cave she saw his expression transform. "It's you," he whispered. "That's what I couldn't understand."

"What are you talking about?" Dean said.

Kevin pulled the tablet out of his bag and stared at it. " _Born the night the stars fell / named for a song / the girl who_  … not  _has the key_ , but  _is the key_. I was reading it wrong this whole time."

"Whoa, wait, hang on," Garth said. "Run that past us again?"

"He's right," Layla said. "The key isn't lost. The thing we saw before was just…I don't know. An illusion. A MacGuffin. I'm the key."

"You're the key," Dean said.

"Yep.  _C'est moi._ "

He snorted. "Bullshit you're the key. Bullshit! If you're the key, then I'm—"

"An archangel's vessel?" she said sweetly.

"You know, normally I like a smart ass, but sometimes it really just pisses me off!" Dean said with a furious glare.

"I'm sorry, white Tupac, did I actually make a  _valid fucking point_? I know this is hard to believe. Trust me, I'm in a tiny bit of shock about it, too. But, hey, your little God rock says it, so I guess it must be true. Right?"

Dean stepped back. Turned away. Said to Sam: "Did she just call me white Tupac?"

Sam said, "Yeah, I think she did."

"Because of the shirt, right?"

"Well I doubt it's because of your mad rap skills."

"She's right, though," Kevin said. "It  _does_  say it here. I just didn't realize it before. She's the key, Dean, whether you believe it or not."

Layla scrubbed both hands over her face. This wasn't going at all how she'd planned it. Not that she'd really had time to plan it, but overall antagonizing Dean probably would not have been part of the plan. "Dean, look, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to give you a hard time."

"Coulda fooled me," he muttered, his back still to her.

"Could you please just turn around? I'm trying to apologize here."

He capitulated with ill grace. "You just found this out? Five minutes ago?"

She nodded, mouth tight.

He watched her. He knew what it was like to have an unwanted destiny. To have forces bigger and more powerful than you suddenly thrust their bullshit in your lap and laugh when you tried to refuse it. He didn't know what it meant that she was the key, but he was sure it wasn't good for her, and it seemed like she wasn't happy about it. He could relate.

"Destiny's a bitch," he said.

She recognized it for what it was, and accepted it as such: a peace offering. "You don't really look like white Tupac."

"Yeah, he does," Garth said. "A little bit."

"So this means we can complete the ritual!" Linda said.

Layla's eyes went wide. "I—" She took a deep breath. "None of you know me, and you have no reason to trust me or care or listen, but please. We can't do it."

"What?" Sam said. "But that's the whole point. That's why we're here. You're the key, right? You can work the lock!"

"I know that, and I know how much closing the Gates means to all of you, but I'm begging you. We have to send them back, but we can't close them."

"It was your idea to vote," Dean said.

"I know! Things have changed."

"You're the key," Kevin said. "If we perform the ritual, you have to play your part."

A pause.

"What does that mean?" Garth said.

"She would have no choice," Kevin said. "It's part of the spell."

Dean's expression darkened. He and Sam shared a look. "Is that true?" Dean said to her.

She looked at him. Her eyes flicked away. Back. "The key is a tool," she said, voice hard. "A tool exists to be used."

A silence fell. The Winchesters studied her, each thinking his own thoughts. They exchanged another long, wordless communication. Sam's brows drew together. Dean's mouth twitched. Sam shook his head once. Dean frowned.

Finally Dean said, "No. We send them back. They stay open."

" _What_?" Linda said. "What about—?"

"No!" Dean said. "End of discussion. We're not doing the spell. We find another way."

"You can't just  _decide_  that!" she said. "Not after everything my son has done! We should take another vote. That's the only fair—"

"I said  _no_!" Dean thrust his finger toward Layla's surprised face. "She might be a pain in the ass, but she's a human being, and not only that but my idiot friend is in love with her. I'm not letting her be  _used_  by some damn spell. Free goddamn will!"

"It's kind of our battle cry," Sam said. "Minus the  _goddamn_  part, usually."

Kevin rested a hand on his mother's arm. "He's right, Mom. She's a person, not a tool. We can't just use her."

"You guys are givin' me warm fuzzies like wow," Layla said.

"This is no time for your sarcasm, young lady!" Linda said. "We wouldn't be using you if you just wanted to do this."

Layla softened. "It's the damned, Linda. We were right about the damned."

She was crying now, and nearly blinded by her tears. "But how do you  _know_? It was just a theory!"

"I have it on pretty good authority. I'm sorry, Linda. I wish this could be over for you and Kevin, too." She went still as something new occurred to her, and she missed the next several seconds of conversation. Kevin was trying to calm his mother down and the three Hunters were arguing theories on how to return the Gates to their rightful place.…

"Dean? Is that you?"

His head shot toward the gap in the rocks. "Cas? You out there? We're back here!"

"Yes. I can hear you, but I can't see. Where are you?"

"Oh," Layla said. "I locked it."

Five sets of eyes stared at her.

"What do you mean, you  _locked_  it?" Sam said.

"The, er. The gap. The demons were…annoying. So I, er…I locked it. Um." She offered an awkward smile and a shrug.

"She's the key," Kevin said as if that explained everything.

"I thought you were just the key to, you know…Hell," Dean said.

"More like the skeleton variety," she said. "Everything has a lock. You just have to know where to look."

He considered her for a long quiet moment, his eyes dark with something unreadable. It might have been compassion. She hoped it wasn't pity.

"Jesus, kid," he muttered.

She swallowed. "Do you see it now?" she called.

"Yes," Cas said from beside her.

"Agh!" she said. "Don't sneak up on people like that, Cas. I'm gonna hang a bell around your neck or something."

He studied her with tilted head and furrowed brow. "There's something different. What's different? Has something happened?"

"Heya, Alfie," Dean said, clapping the baby-faced angel on the back. "Good to see ya again. How ya been?"

"I've been Crowley's prisoner for the last several months. He's subjected me to unspeakable torture. How have you been, Dean?" he said, his expression smooth.

"Not bad, all things considered," he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

"You should be aware we passed the Gates of Hell on our way here," Cas said. "They're just outside."

"Yeah, Cas," Sam said, "we know. We're working the problem."

"Are we no longer planning to close them?"

Dean glanced at Layla. "No. New plan. We send them back and think of…something else."

Samandriel and Cas shared a look. "To return the Gates to Hell will not be easy," the former said. "It will require a great deal of power."

"Angelic power?" Layla said hopefully.

"Yes," Cas said, "but more than that." He hesitated. "Where is Crowley?"

"Still in the Devil's Trap, as far as we know," Garth said.

"We will require his assistance," Cas said.

"You're kidding, right?" said Sam.

"Unfortunately, no. Hell is his domain, so the ritual is partially his to perform." He frowned around the circle. "You all look terrible," he said. He touched each one of them in turn to heal their wounds. Layla was careful to avoid him, and for the moment he didn't seem to notice.

"There's no way Crowley's gonna help us," Dean said. "With the Gates up here, this's his chance to take over. He'll laugh his ass off."

"I don't think so," Layla said.

"What are you thinking, Layla?" Cas said.

"Crowley has the one thing he's ever wanted, right? He's the King of Hell. Who has the power to take that away from him?"

It was a half-rhetorical question, but the little group gave it due consideration anyway.

"No one, really," Samandriel said. "Demons jockey for power constantly, but Crowley keeps them small and stupid. There are few with his age and power now that the big players like Azazel and Alistair are gone."

"And Lucifer, of course," Sam said. "He's locked away. No threat to Crowley."

"Exactly," said Layla, voice soft. "Locked."

Again the stares. Only Cas looked nonplussed. Everyone else just seemed shocked. Maybe a tiny bit intrigued.

"You can't be proposing what I think you're proposing," Garth said. "Layla, I'm all for radical ideas, but Lucifer is…he's big  _b_  Bad, no shit. He's nothing any of us need to mess with."

"I'm not actually going to mess with Lucifer, Garth. I'm not crazy. But Crowley doesn't know that. Hell, he probably thinks I  _am_  crazy. Think about it from Crowley's point of view: if the Gates stayed here, what would we really have to lose by letting Lucifer out?"

"I don't understand this conversation," Cas said. "How can we possibly release Lucifer from his cage? I was able to get Sam out once, but to do something like that again—"

"No, Cas, no one is saying that," Sam said.

"He doesn't know what you are?" Dean said.

"The angels don't," Layla said.

"I do," Samandriel said.

"I stand corrected. The cute one does."

Cas made a noise.

"Again, I stand corrected. The little one does."

"I'm unused to ignorance," Cas said. "It's an uncomfortable feeling."

"It would be better if we didn't tell you now, brother," Samandriel said. "Not just for your own good, but for Layla's, as well."

A quiet moment as Cas mulled it over. "Very well. I will trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Castiel," he said with quiet dignity.

"Great," Dean said, rubbing his hands together, "now that we've got that settled, about this plan—"

"I'm surprised we haven't heard from you before now," Layla said.

"I just want to make sure I have it straight. You're gonna threaten Crowley with Lucifer if he doesn't help us, right? Because if you  _did_  let big Lu out, he'd take Crowley's toys and go home, and Crowley would be left…dead. But if Crowley helps us, yeah he doesn't get Earth, but at least he still has Hell."

"And better to rule there, etc, etc," she said.

"Do you think he'll buy it?"

"I don't know, Dean. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Not really."

"Okay, then."

"Oh," Cas said. He blinked like waking from a dream. "The door. The cage. Samandriel said it before."

"Castiel, don't."

"It's why the key Crowley had was drawn to her. It's why the Metatron spoke of her in the tablet."

"Cas, if Alfie says don't, maybe you shouldn't—"

His face was strange as he took a step closer to her. She fell back, suddenly frightened.

"Castiel, stop! Don't listen to her!" Samandriel said.

"You're the key," Cas said.

The rocks around them shook with the clarion call of trumpets, and Cas' face was a mask of anguish as he crumpled to his knees. Samandriel looked terrified. Layla clapped her hands over her ears as agony rang through her skull like a thousand church bells.

"What is it?" she cried.

The others shook their heads, mystified, but clearly not in pain like she was.

"Angels!" Samandriel said with something like a sob. "The angels have come! She's here!"


	13. Angels, Plural

**The mind is its own place, and it itself**  
**Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.**  
John Milton,  _Paradise Lost_  (1.254-255) _  
_

"Angels?" Kevin said. "Why would they be here? Because of the Gates? This is bad. This is bad, right?"

"Angels, plural, are never good," Dean said.

"The Gates are of little concern," Samandriel said. "They're here for her." He gestured toward Layla, but she wasn't paying attention. Each trumpet blast was worse than the one before it, and by the fourth she was curled in a ball with her arms wrapped around her head.

"How could they know?" Sam said. "Why now?"

"We have to go," Cas said.

"Castiel, you can block her from your mind. You must concentrate," said Samandriel.

Cas blinked at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Layla whimpered as the trumpets sounded a fifth time. Garth knelt next to her, his narrow face creased. "What's happening to her?" he said to Samandriel.

"The key is not compatible with an angel's power. If this keeps up, she'll die."

"Die?" Dean said, eyes widening. "Just like that? You're kidding, right? There has to be something we can do to help her."

Samandriel looked grave. "The key protects itself," he said.

"What the hell does that mean!?"

"Everything has a lock," Garth said. He leaned closer to Layla. Touched her face. "Layla, can you hear me? You've gotta concentrate. Lock out the trumpets."

Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and her skin was deathly pale. "Can't," she gasped. "Hurts!"

"Do or die time, kid," Dean said, his serious tone belying the light words.

The next blast made her body go taut like a live wire, but once it passed she managed a quick nod. Bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity, but gradually she relaxed. When her eyes opened again, the haze of agony was gone. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

"Thank you," she said once she thought she could speak without throwing up.

Garth shrugged. "You did the hard part," he said. "I just held the flashlight."

He helped her stand, and as soon as she felt steady, she went immediately to Cas. She didn't touch him—she didn't want a repeat of the bizarre spark she'd experienced before—but she definitely invaded his personal space. Not that he really understood things like personal space anyway.

"Explain," she said.

He looked as befuddled as she'd ever seen him, befuddled and…more than that.  _Lost_. Utterly adrift. Her heart did a funny little flip in her chest, and she reached for him. Let her fingers hover a hair's breadth from the electric warmth of his skin. "Cas…?"

"I…don't…know," he said, biting out each word as though it pained him. He blinked. Shook his head. Stepped back and grabbed his skull in a crushing grip. "We have to go!" he said.

"Alfie, what the hell?" said Dean.

He let out a long sigh. "I'm not supposed to say."

"I think you need to," Sam said.

"There's someone in there," Layla said. "In his head. I can…I can see her. The door she's opened. I could close it—"

"No!" Samandriel said. "No, Layla. She doesn't know for sure you're here. The key, I mean. If you do that, she'll know. You won't be able to hide from her."

"But she's hurting him."

"Then we should stop her," Dean said, "whoever this bitch is, but we should also probably listen to Alfie. He's been right so far."

"Her name is Naomi. She would kill us all to get what she wants."

Layla smiled a little. "We are what she wants. Killing us would be counterproductive."

"You can't negotiate with her, Layla," Samandriel said, sounding horrified.

"Silly angel. If there's one thing Crowley taught me, it's that everything is a negotiation. Everyone has a price, Samandriel. We just have to find Naomi's."

"What if we can't pay it?" Sam said.

She glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "Then fuck her. I think we can all agree we're not letting some angelic bitch poke around inside Cas's head, and we're sure as hell not letting her get her hands on Kevin or the tablet."

"What about you? She obviously wants to get her hands on you," Dean said.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about me, Dean," she said. "Didn't you hear? The key protects itself."

Her tone was bitter, and he wondered what she was thinking. He almost asked her. He almost wanted to know…but he thought it was probably better if he didn't.

"You guys, I think we should go before Cas has an aneurysm," Garth said with a frown.

The angel had grown increasingly agitated as the conversation continued, and each time they said Naomi's name he jumped. Now he looked ready to bolt straight through the solid rock and onto the plain outside, the rest of them be damned. They shared a series of grim looks, but without further ado Layla unlocked the entrance, and with Dean once again taking point, they made a reluctant procession from the cave and onto the plain.

* * *

The demons were gone.

The Gates were still there, dominating the plain with their grisly, maddening, and ever-shifting aspect. Crowley was in the same place they'd left him, mad as a wet cat and plotting gruesome forms of revenge…or at least he had been until the angels showed up and put a damper on his scheming. Now he was just trying to look unobtrusive.

The angels drew Layla's eye the most, even more than the Gates, and she could feel their power battering at the door she'd locked against them. They searched for her. Searched for the key. One angel in particular sent golden arrows of power like well-aimed missiles, and each one carried the same signature she'd seen inside Cas' head.

Naomi.

"Hey, Alfie," Dean said, "you got one of those angel blades handy?"

He looked horrified. "I'm a lore keeper, not a fighter. I don't have a sword."

Dean blinked at him. "You're a librarian?" he said. "An angel librarian?"

"Something like that."

"Great. And I thought  _Cas_  was the nerdy angel."

"Here, Dean," Cas said. "Take mine." He held out the thin blade, and after a moment's hesitation Dean took it. "If my mind has truly been compromised, I'm probably safer without it anyway."

"Right," Layla said, "because you require a little sword thingie to wreak havoc."

He gave her a pained look, but she made a quick gesture before he could say anything. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

His eyes softened and he nodded. She smiled. Dean cleared his throat and the moment was broken.

"We should split up," he said.

"I think it's too late," Sam said. He nodded toward the angels. "Here they come."

Samandriel's face scrunched. "That's Naomi in the front. She looks…incensed."

"In the pantsuit?!" Dean said. "You're kidding, right?"

"She looks like she's running for treasurer of something," said Layla.

An instant later the angels had encircled them, just like that, but Dean only laughed. "You angels," he said. "You always gotta pick some midlevel bureaucratic paper-pusher as your vessel, huh? Unless they sell insurance, you just aren't happy."

"Alfie worked at the Wiener Hut," Samandriel said.

Dean cast him an annoyed glare. "Yeah, kid, I know. I was just…never mind. I was talking to the  _other_  angels. The non-librarian ones."

Naomi was tall and commanding, and her red hair (obviously a dye job, Layla, a natural redhead, recognized with an internal snort) caught the late sun with a rusty gleam. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down her nose at them. "Dean Winchester," she said. "I've heard you were mouthy. A constant thorn in every angel's side since Zachariah."

"Yeah," Dean said with a brittle smile, "and look what happened to that dick."

"Don't forget Uriel," said Sam. "He and Dean never really got along, either."

Naomi narrowed her eyes at Sam. "And you. The Lucifer vessel. Why we didn't just kill you years ago, I'll never understand." She let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not here for either of you, and I don't have time for this." She waved a hand and the Winchesters were thrown to the ground like leaves pummeled by a blast of wind.

"Ow," said Dean.

"Castiel," Naomi said, "where is the key?"

"Castiel, no. You don't have to tell her. She has no true authority over you," Samandriel said. He darted a look at Naomi and swallowed.

Her head swiveled toward him. "Samandriel," she said, "why are you interfering? This is none of your affair."

He straightened his thin body to its full height and squared off against her. "It is my affair, Naomi. Castiel is my brother, and he isn't the only angel you have hurt. You have no right! Who are you to abuse the authority of Heaven?"

She sighed again. To Cas: "Kill him."

He stared at her, incredulous. "Why…?"

"No!" Layla said. "You can't make him do that." She glanced at Samandriel. "Can she?"

"Are you crazy?" said Dean, craning his neck to look up at Naomi from his prone position. "Like, really bat shit insane? It's a sincere question."

Naomi ignored them. "He is a danger to us all, Castiel. You heard me."

"Sorry, lady," Dean said, "but I've got his pig sticker, so—hey!"

The weapon was suddenly in Cas' hand, and before anyone could move, he sifted out of place and to Samandriel. He held the smaller angel in his arms, almost like an embrace, and Samandriel's Grace was a blinding fountain, a brilliant blast of perfect beauty. Shadowed wings exploded from his back and he drifted to the ground as the last of the light leaked away and he went still. His too-young face was shocked, and one hand lay open like a plea.

Cas stared down at him, benumbed.

"Cas…" Layla whispered.

Linda grasped Kevin's hand and squeezed so hard he felt things grinding together. He didn't care.

"Holy shit," Garth said.

"You fucking bitch," Dean said. "I will skewer you myself."

"Big words from a puny little boy who can't even stand up," she said. She brushed her hands together and dismissed Samandriel's body with a wave. "Now, Castiel. The key."

He stared at her. His midnight eyes were glazed, his face blank. "The key protects itself," he said in a hollow voice.

"That old saw. Fine. Kill the Lucifer vessel."

Cas' teeth ground together. His body went rigid with the effort of resisting her, and the muscles stood out on his neck like cords.

"I'm gonna make what I did to Zachariah look like sweet, sweet mercy by the time I'm done with you," Dean spat.

"Keep talking, Winchester," she said. "You're next."

"For fuck's sake, what is  _wrong_  with you?" Layla cried. "I thought angels were supposed to be  _nice_! I mean, not like Roma Downey nice, but at least not total psychopaths! Compassion and guidance and all that shit. Stop this, okay? Just stop it. I'm your fucking key. You want me? Here I am. Stop playing games with Cas's head and stop acting like a complete fucking lunatic!"

"The key protects itself, hmm?" she said with an amused glance at Cas. "Not as much when it's trapped in a flawed human shell. Well, little key, come with me. You, too, prophet. We have a ritual to finish."

"Oh no," Linda said. "No way. You're not getting anywhere near my son. You have to go through me first."

"Linda, don't," Garth said. "You think she  _won't_  go through you?"

"I don't care! I'm not letting this… _thing_  get Kevin!"

"Stop it, Mom. Garth's right. Look what she made Cas do to Samandriel." He shook his head, and his face was bleak. "It doesn't matter. I guess the prophet's just a tool, too."

"Finally," Naomi said, "a human who talks some sense." She turned to one of the legion behind her. "Bring the demon. Make sure he doesn't escape his vessel. You, get the prophet. You, take the key."

An angel grabbed Kevin's arm and another stepped forward for Layla, but she dodged him. "That's okay. I'm coming." So. Naomi didn't know about her conflict with angel powers. That was interesting.

"Castiel, come."

"He's not your lapdog, lady!" Dean called after them.

"Stay here," she said to a small, serious-looking contingent of angels. "Guard the Winchesters and the prophet's mother. If they so much as twitch, kill them." She stared back at them, her eyes cold and hard. Turned to the angels again. "Start with the mother. Save Dean Winchester for last."

* * *

"You know if they die, neither of us will help you," Layla said as they made their way across the plain toward the Gates.

"You, for one, don't have any choice. Once the prophet resumes the ritual, your key aspect will take over."

"She might not have a choice, but I do. If something happens to my mom—"

"We find another prophet. The demon did conveniently gather them for us, after all." She made an expansive gesture and smiled that chilly little smile. "We came prepared."

"You brought the other prophets," Kevin said. "In case I said no."

She shrugged. "Said no, were accidentally killed in the crossfire. Anything can happen in these messy skirmishes. Humans are so delicate."

"Wow," Layla said. "You are a piece of work. I'm surprised you didn't bring a backup set of keys with you, too."

Her expression flickered and then smoothed again. The change was nearly imperceptible, but Layla caught it, and it spoke volumes.

"There aren't any backup keys, or else you can't find them. I'm it. So if  _I_  were to die—"

"Layla!" It was Cas. He was at her side, his hand almost-but-not-quite touching her elbow, his body so close that she could feel the heat of him, sense the tension thrumming through him. "There are half a dozen angels watching you at this moment. The demons are gone, except for Crowley, and he's under guard. There is nothing here that could harm you."

She tilted her head back to look at him. His dark blue eyes were intense, brows drawn together and face set in finely etched lines. "You're safe here," he said.

She swam through the midnight sea of his gaze and searched. Found the door. Naomi's door. Eased it shut and turned the lock with a soft, satisfying  _click_. "So are you," she murmured.

Naomi raised a hand to her head and rubbed at her temple. "What…?" She spun toward Layla and Cas, bright blue eyes blazing with righteous fury. "You!" she said to Layla. "What did you do?"

"Every door has a lock, Naomi," she said, "and I'm the key."

"The key to Hell! The key to—" She stopped herself and tossed her head. "You're a tool. A magical object created to fulfill a few rituals. You have no power of your own."

"Maybe you shouldn't have killed Samandriel so fast, you stupid bitch. Your lore keeper is dead, you clearly have no clue what the fuck you're doing, and guess what?"

Beside her Castiel's vessel began to glow and blur at the edges. Wings appeared behind him in an explosion of Grace that beat at the door in her head like a battering ram. She winced and clenched her jaw. His angel blade was like molten light in his hand, and for the first time she understand what he was: an Angel of the Lord. A warrior of God. She was both comforted and frightened in equal measure.

"Your dog has broken his chain, Naomi," Castiel said in a voice like cathedral bells and the roar of the wind.

"And he is fuckin' pissed," said Layla.


	14. Castiel

**Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror**  
**which we are barely able to endure and are awed**  
 **because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.**  
 **Each single angel is terrifying.**  
Rainer Maria Rilke,  _Duino Elegies_

Castiel dove for Naomi, but he was instantly tackled by the six angels that had been guarding Kevin and Layla. He went down, but it was temporary. An instant later he surged to his feet, celestial forms flying in every direction as angelic Grace poured from him like brilliant golden fire and his wings stirred the dust into a whirlwind.

Layla grabbed Kevin's hand and tugged him away. "I don't think this is anyplace for mortals, kiddo," she said. "I keep remembering what Naomi said about us being delicate."

"Did you  _see_  that?" he said in an awestruck voice. "Six of them. Like nothing."

"That's my guy," she said. "Told you he didn't need some pansy ass sword to raise some hell."

"No," a familiar gravelly British voice said, "but you might. Layla, my dove, where do you think you're going?"

She stopped. Closed her eyes and cursed him under her breath. "I'm  _escaping_ , you moron. I would think you'd be working on a similar plan."

"Oh, I would," he said, swaggering into view from behind them, "but these angels have worked some sort of angel mojo on me, and I'm afraid I'm stuck here. I, the King of Hell, am stuck. Here."

"How embarrassing for you."

"You have no idea. Duck, my dear."

"What?"

He grabbed Kevin's arm and yanked him down. "I said  _duck_."

Never one who had to be asked twice, she hit the dirt just as…what was that? Oh. An angel's severed head. Lovely. "Why the fuck would you care if we get hit by a head?" she said.

"I heard that angel. I know what you are, Layla. I thought you were just a legend."

"Yeah," she said, "someone said the same thing about angels and demons and the Gates of Hell, but here we all are. You know I'm not going to work for you any more than I'm going to work for them."

"We'll see about that, my sweet. At least I'm straightforward in my dealings. With me, what you see is what you get."

"Lies and murder in a smarmy Eurotrash package? Yup, that's you."

His eyes flashed red, a rare glimpse of his true face. "I've been kind to you, Layla. Indulgent, even. But your angel killed my best lieutenant, and you, my dear, have power I want. My indulgence has its limits."

"So does mine, Crowley. You've got a pretty sweet gig up here, don't you? Hot and cold running souls all day long. If I lock those Gates—"

"You won't. You would have done it by now."

Her mouth curved. "Ah, well. There are other locks, Crowley. Other…doors. Cages." She watched him. When she saw the realization dawn, she leaned closer. Whispered in his ear: "A key turns both ways."

He pushed away from her. "You would never. You have no idea what you're even saying, you stupid girl. Stupid mortal girl!"

She jumped to her feet and pulled Kevin up next to her. "I know that the idea scares the shit out of you, and that's enough for me. Think it over, Crowley. He would end this, that's for sure. He would keep the Gates under control, if they're gonna be stuck up here."

Kevin tugged her hand. "Layla, come on. There's a sword over there. We've gotta get back to my mom and the others."

Crowley scrabbled at the dirt and howled after them. "Don't even think about it, Layla! You don't know what sort of power you're playing with!"

She cast a look over her shoulder. Her eyes were hard as she said, "Neither do you, Crowley."

By the time they reached their small group only one guard was left. The others had gone to join the fight against Castiel. Dean was grinding his teeth in frustration, and Sam was almost bodily holding him back from attacking the lone angel. When Kevin and Layla appeared, Sam let go, Dean dove at him, and Layla roared in to stab him with the sword she'd retrieved from one of his fallen comrades.

His death wasn't as dramatic as Samandriel's had been, but the blast of Grace knocked Layla off her feet and created a painful feedback loop in her head. She came to her senses with Sam's worried face filling her vision, and when she nodded that she was okay, he pulled her to her feet with breathtaking ease.

"Holy shit," she said. "I just killed a guy."

"A winged scumbag son of a bitch," Dean said. "Not a real guy."

She stared at him. "Cas is an angel, Dean."

He blinked. "Yeah, but…" He shifted his weight. "Well, yeah, but…he's a different…I mean, it's not…" He looked away. "Shit."

"Speaking of," Garth said, "he might be an angel on steroids right now, but two dozen guys are starting to get a little overwhelming even for him."

He pointed toward the glowing whirlwind that was Castiel. Sure enough: from what they could tell, he was slowing, and the angels had gotten smarter with their attacks. He was keeping them at bay, but he seemed unwilling to go on the offensive. He wouldn't last much longer at the rate things were going.

"Here," Layla said and offered the sword to Dean. "I think I'm done with the angel killing. Gave me one humdinger of a headache anyway."

He took it from her with an awkward nod of thanks, and Sam retrieved the one from the angel she'd killed. "We could banish them," he said.

"That'd banish Cas, too," Dean said.

"So we fight?" said Sam. "We kill angels? A dozen angels? And what about Naomi? She's not even in it yet."

"Anybody have a knife?" Layla said.

"Yeah," said five voices at once.

"Erm, great. Just need one." Dean gave her his, and she tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. "Don't worry about Naomi. I think she's more of a string-puller than a fighter. I'll deal with her."

"Layla," Sam said, "whatever you're thinking—"

"We should go," she said. "Cas doesn't have much time."

The brothers shared a look, and Dean shrugged. "You heard the woman. Everybody grab a sword on the way. A badass angel needs saving, and it looks like it's up to the pitiful humans."

* * *

Castiel almost couldn't remember what had made him so angry. As his Grace had filled his human vessel near to bursting, he'd almost forgotten why he'd summoned so much of it in the first place. Wherefore this fury? Whence this sudden rage? But then he'd heard her scream, a short shout of rage and fear, and it had all come rushing back.

Layla. Naomi. Samandriel.

Layla. Layla. Layla. Every stroke of his sword was her name. Every rustle of his wings and beat of his vessel's heart. He realized he was saying it aloud, as though in a few minutes he could make up for the days he'd missed the sound of it, the days she'd withheld it from him. He had existed for millennia without feeling this way, and now in a few short days she had remade him.

He didn't want to kill any more of his brethren. That wasn't his goal. He merely wanted to distract them, keep them busy long enough for the others to escape. But they attacked him, and when they did, the ancient warrior part of him took over. His brethren attacked, and his brethren fell.

His coat was torn and tattered, khaki ribbons that tangled around him as he spun and dodged. Molten feathers fell in a soft rain, and where they hit the dirt it fused into shining glass pebbles. Light glowed from a hundred tiny nicks and cuts, and he knew when his Grace fled he would be a bloody mess.

He didn't care.

This wasn't a battle he could win, but winning wasn't his goal, either. If he died here, at least he would die protecting the people he cared about. If Death came for him, if Death found him here on this desolate Nevada plain, Death would find him fighting.

Despite it all: the odds, the injuries, the guilt and fear; Castiel fought on, grim and furious and determined.

* * *

At first the angels ignored them. What did a few pitiful humans—as Dean had so appropriately phrased it—matter to a band of omnipotent immortal celestial beings? Clearly these angels were new. Maybe they hadn't heard of the Winchesters or hadn't paid attention to Heavenly scuttlebutt. Or maybe they simply didn't believe the stories.

They would learn.

Dean took Linda and Kevin one way while Sam, Garth, and Layla cut around the other side. Castiel was surrounded by a group of twenty or so, and he was their goal. If they could get to Cas, he could get them out. All of them except Layla, a fact she failed to mention. She had little intention of leaving here alive, and she was pretty sure Dean and Sam knew that. Some things were best left unsaid.

Dean gave the signal, and they attacked. Sam took out two before the angels even realized what was happening. Dean had one down, and Linda had jumped on another as Kevin stabbed it. It took five, six fallen comrades before the humans even warranted angelic attention. By that time Layla had peeled away from the others and started to work her way through the melee.

The angels avoided her by instinct. A few of them started toward her only to stop just short of touching, as though they could sense the aura of conflicting energy that surrounded her. She felt enclosed in a bubble, and the sea of angels parted as she went through them. It was…thrilling. And creepy. Not for the first time she wondered what she was, and why Naomi, by all accounts an incredibly powerful angel, seemed so sure that she was nothing, an object to be used with no true power.

Eyewitness accounts would seem to belie that notion.

Castiel was on the ropes. His wings dragged the dust, and his back was bent with pain and fatigue. Light and blood flowed from…everywhere. But the light was dimming, while the ground at his feet grew dark and muddy with blood. He slipped down to one knee, head bowed, and struggled to rise. The magnificent wings folded across his back and their blazing color flickered and faded.

An angel stood above him, blade raised and face twisted in an obscene grimace of triumph.

Layla was four steps away. Three. She held out a hand. "No."

He heard her. His head came up, and she saw in the starless midnight skies of his eyes such anguish. Such compassion and love.

An angel stepped between them. She stared up at him in horrified incomprehension. "No," she said. She touched his chest, and the spark she'd experienced before was as nothing to this. A pure bolt of energy flew between them, and the angel staggered and fell. Layla's arm was numb to the shoulder, and her nose felt wet. When she wiped her face, her fingers came away red.

The moment had distracted Castiel's would-be killer long enough for Castiel to rally. He lifted his blade with the last of his rapidly waning strength and thrust it into the angel's chest. He stared down at him with an almost comical look of surprise before the shadow wings exploded from his back and he toppled to the ground.

Layla stepped over the bodies between them and knelt next to Castiel. Reached for him but stopped just short of touching him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I can't. If I touch you—"

"I saw," he said. She'd never heard his voice so low and rough, like gravel in a clothes dryer. "Are you…hurt? You're bleeding."

"It's nothing. It happened when I—" She waved at the body behind her. "It's nothing. Baby, you're a mess. You have to get out of here. Are you strong enough?"

She flinched against him each time there was an explosion of Grace behind and around them, and there were many. Despite Sam's reservations, they had caught the angels completely off guard, and none of them had expected humans to put up such an attack. The angels were falling like dominoes.

"I don't know," Castiel said. "To move all of them? Probably not."

She cupped his face with her hands, her fingers trembling with the effort of not touching his dusty, bloody skin, and lifted his head to look at her. "Where is Naomi?" she said. "This won't be over until we've dealt with her."

"She's very powerful, Layla. I expended too much of myself on the others. I'm not sure there's enough left of me—"

"No, Cas. Naomi isn't your concern anymore. It's me she wants now, so I'm the one who has to deal with her. Can you find her? I can't see her. She got the hell out of Dodge when shit started goin' down." She rolled her eyes. "Typical."

He struggled to rise and she sat back, watching him with heart in her throat. She hated to see him in such pain. She hated that she couldn't even.…She looked away. The Moirai had called her  _very foolish_  to consort with an angel. That was one way to put it. Four days, she thought. No, five now. Five days and she wasn't anything like the woman she'd been when she'd sat down across from him in that nasty truck stop.

A few short days and he'd remade her.

"She's there," he said.

Layla snapped out of her thoughts and back to the moment. Wiped the tears away before he could see them and scrambled to her feet. "Ah, of course," she said. "With the backup prophets. Can't afford to let assets like that remain unguarded." She frowned. "These are all the angels she brought? And she's just letting them die?"

"To her, these are just foot soldiers. Nameless, faceless. You saw how disposable Samandriel was to her, and he was…" The thought faded and died as emotion overcame him. A fresh trail of blood made its way from his eye down his cheek. He brushed at it. "He was…of import. Samandriel was good."

"Yes," she said, her voice soft. "There's no shame in crying for him."

"My vessel has been badly damaged."

"Yes," she said again, this time with a quirk of her mouth. "But so have you. And that's why Naomi's not going to win this round, Castiel. I promise."

There was the sound of wings, and the few angels left standing were suddenly gone. Their fallen comrades littered the dusty plain in a surreal tableau of shadowed wings and shattered Grace. Layla shuddered and spun in a slow circle. Took stock of the group.

Everyone was more or less intact. Dean was bleeding a bit, and Sam had a limp. Garth's ear seemed to be missing a piece off the top, but he was holding a bandana to it and grinning like a fool. Linda and Kevin looked shaken but whole. Behind them all, Crowley stood in the near distance, and his expression was a strange mix of cocky disinterest and pure horror.

"You coming or not?" she called to him.

"You haven't exactly left me much  _choice_ , have you?"

"Time's a-wastin', boy-o. You in or you out? You know what happens if you choose door number two."

"Layla," Castiel said, his voice low and urgent, "if Naomi learns you're even contemplating opening Lucifer's cage, she will kill you. She will not care that you're the only key. She will not allow the Morning Star to walk again."

She turned to him, and the look in her dark, dark eyes sent a chill straight through him. "Good," she said. "Then no one gets what they want, do they?"

That was when he understood what she intended to do, and every cell, every atom, every spark in his body railed against it. He stared at her. She stared back. Their eyes fought a war, midnight blue against cocoa brown.

"No, Layla," he said.

"It's the only way."

"I won't let you."

She held her fingers in front of his mouth. "It isn't your decision. It's mine."

"It's a stupid plan," Dean said.

"You keep saying that," she said, not dropping Castiel's intense gaze. "Offer me something better."

"There has to be something," Sam said.

"I don't get it," Garth said. "What are we talking about? Is this about Lucifer's cage again?"

"No, Garth," Dean said. "It's about Layla's idiotic martyr complex."

"Martyr complex? What…?" His eyes went wide and he dropped the bloody bandana. "Layla, come on. No way."

"This isn't a debate," she said in an icy voice. "Cas, grab Kevin and Linda and get them out of here. There's no reason for them to be here now. Do you have some way of hiding them from angels?"

"Do that thing," Dean said and pointed at his ribcage. "That Enochian symbol thingie. It worked for us."

Castiel nodded. "This will hurt," he said to Linda and Kevin. He grabbed them both by the shoulder and they let out little cries of pain. Cas staggered.

"Whoa, man," Sam said. "You got enough juice to take them?"

"I am weakened, but I should be strong enough to transport them a short distance. The prophet needs to be kept safe."

"Will you guys be okay?" Kevin said.

"We'll be fine," Dean said. "You'll see us before you know it. Get outta here and take care of your mom." He met the angel's over-bright eyes and nodded. "Stay with them, Cas. We'll take care of things here."

He frowned. "I'm coming back." He looked at Layla. "I will be back." The three of them disappeared in a flutter of wings and a swirl of dust.

She watched the empty space for several heartbeats before her head jerked in a nod. "Good. Let's go. We have to get this over with before he gets back."

Dean tossed Ruby's knife to Sam. "Go get Crowley. If he gets cute, you get stabby-slashy."

"Don't we need Cas to send the gates back?" Garth said as he hurried to follow Dean and Layla.

"Yep," Layla said, voice grim. "Y'all can take care of that. After."

"Right," Garth said. "After."

He cast a worried glance over his shoulder at the spot where the angel had disappeared. He wondered what  _after_  would look like for Castiel, and if he would be in any shape to help any of them with anything.


	15. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take care, readers: the tag about "suicide attempt" comes into play this chapter. It shouldn't be a huge surprise bc I set it up last chapter, but still.

**There's a darkness upon you that's flooded in light,  
****And in the fine print they tell you what's wrong and what's right.  
****And it flies by day and it flies by night,  
****And I'm frightened by those who don't see it.**  
The Avett Brothers, "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise"

Naomi was waiting for them, her face a mask of indifference that barely concealed the rage seething beneath. She watched them through narrowed eyes as they fanned out in front of her, and only the slight tick of her brow betrayed her when Sam arrived with a protesting Crowley.

"The prophet's gone, bitch," Dean said, "and he took the tablet with him. Bet you can't find him." He grinned. "Try."

"I understand now why Zachariah found you so infuriating. Your games would try Mother Theresa's patience. Believe me; I've met her."

She held up her hand, probably to smite him, but Layla's voice stopped her. "I'd think before I did anything too hasty, Naomi," she said.

"Little key," she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "your hubris is beyond comprehension. Was it your idea to bring this… _thing_  before me?" She gestured to Crowley. "I should squash it like a bug."

"My hubris? Where do you get off talking about  _my_  hubris? You're the one who's apparently crowned herself Queen of Heaven. You think you have some sort of right to control angels' minds, treat them like your trained monkeys. No one should have that power, Naomi."

Layla waved a hand. "Kill Crowley if you want—"

"Hey!"

"But you need him to send the Gates back, and you know it. Without his blood they're stuck here."

"Why would I want to send them back? The ritual—"

"Prophet, gone. Tablet, gone," Dean said. "We just had this conversation. All that puppet-mastering must've fried your brain."

"Why would the King of Hell cooperate with you?" Naomi said. "He's a demon!"

Dean cast a look at his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam made a neat slash across Crowley's arm with Ruby's knife, and he howled in protest. "Watch the suit, you moose! That's Valentino." He grumped and groused over the cut and glared around the circle. "What?" he said, throwing his hands up. "Yes, I'll help you. I hate the view from here anyway."

No mention of Lucifer. Like Cas, he had to know how Naomi would react to that bit of news. There could only be one reason he wouldn't want Layla dead, and it had nothing to do with affection.

"You should get back to Heaven," Layla said to Naomi. "Castiel will be back soon, and I don't think any of us can guarantee your safety when he gets here."

"I don't think any of us much give a damn," Dean said.

"I came for the key," Naomi said.

"The key isn't for sale," said Sam.

Naomi's brows flicked upward again. "I didn't realize this was an auction. I'm not here to  _buy_ , Sam. I'm here to  _take_. The key is ours, and we will have her."

Dean started forward, fists clenched and angel blade raised, but Layla stopped him with a gesture and a shake of her head. She'd expected nothing less. "I'm human, Naomi. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

She sighed as though Layla were a terrible trial to her. "You're an ancient power in a human shell. Before today, I thought the key was nothing. A mere tool. Apparently, that impression was inaccurate." She looked like she'd tasted something bitter. "What you are is too great to stay here, loose and floating around. You must be studied. Contained. Controlled. Anything less is unacceptable."

Layla closed her eyes. She knew what she had to do, but she was afraid. So frightened her bones ached with it. "Okay," she said, meeting Naomi's steely blue gaze with steady resolve. "I get it. Okay."

"Layla…" Garth said from behind her.

"First, though, we send the Gates back. That's my condition. You help us send them back, and I'll go with you and be your lab rat."

Naomi frowned. "I just said this isn't—"

"A negotiation. Yeah, we know," said Dean.

"But those are the terms," Sam said.

"Don't like 'em?" said Garth.

"Find another key," Dean said. He grinned. "Oh wait."

"Fine," Naomi said through gritted teeth. "But you should know the ritual requires blood. Demon, angel, and human."

"We know," Layla said. "Crowley's the demon, you're the angel, and I'm the human."

"You?" she said and blinked. "Why you?"

"Why not me?"

"You're not entirely human. Your blood might not work."

"I'll go," Dean said.

It wasn't the plan. Layla hesitated. "Dean—"

"With you," he added. "I'll go with you. Someone's gotta keep Crowley in line."

Layla shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "What about Cas? When he gets back—"

"We can worry about Cas," Sam said. He handed the knife to Dean and offered a strained smile. "You worry about the Gates."

"For  _fuck's_  sake!" Crowley said. "I don't give a damn who we bleed, let's just get on with it! I have a business to run. Moose, squirrel, key, little…skinny man, it's all the same to me."

"Well," Naomi said, "now that the demon's voted, I assume we're decided?" She glanced at each one of them in turn. "Good. Let's go then. We have to be closer for the ritual to work."

Dean gave the writhing gates an uneasy look. "How much closer?"

"That's the best part, Dean my boy. The ritual isn't just a simple bloodletting. We have to anoint the gates with our blood before we can send them back." He chortled gleefully at the nauseated expression on Dean's face. "Regretting your quickness to volunteer now, aren't you?"

"Let's get this shit over with," he said. He jabbed Crowley in the back with the knife to hurry him along. "And you shut up. I don't think there's anything in the ritual about needing you  _alive_."

The four of them made an unlikely procession—self-righteous angel, quasi-human, grumpy demon, really pissed off human—and the closer they got to the Gates of Hell, the more their pace faltered. Naomi was least affected by the proximity, and Crowley, of course, was actually buoyed by it. For Layla and Dean, time seemed to slow with each step. The ground seemed to shift and move beneath their feet. The world seemed darker, the setting sun redder, the shadows deeper, the air thicker.

Crowley smirked at them. Naomi scowled. "Humans," she said with disgust.

"I guess…my blood…will do…after all," Layla said through numb lips.

The angel let out a sharp breath. "Let's get on with it before you die and ruin everything."

Layla made a strange gasping sound that might have been a laugh. Naomi ignored her, Dean was too busy trying to remain conscious to pay her any attention, but Crowley heard something interesting in that odd little noise, and he eyed her.

"Demon, you're first," Naomi said. "Get over here."

Dean raised the knife, but Crowley waved him away. "Leave off. I know my part."

As the ritual began, Dean fell back to stand next to Layla. He watched her from the corner of his eye. He didn't know if her extreme pallor was due to their proximity to the Gates or her (really stupid) plan, but she didn't look good. "You sure about this?" he said in an undertone.

She cut him a glare, but it lacked any heat. "Of course not. But you heard what she said, and you know Crowley would just love to do something similar. Fuck that. Fuck them."

"Free will, huh?"

"I heard it's sort of your battle cry."

He flashed a grin, brief but true. "Yeah. That's the word on the street anyway."

"You! Key! It's time," Naomi said.

Dean's eyes locked with hers. "He'll never forgive me for letting you do this."

"It's better this way, Dean. For him, too."

"Layla, if you want your precious plane saved from the ravages of Hell—"

"I'm coming Crowley! Keep your damn pants on." She offered Dean a last smile and stepped forward. His knife was in her hand. It felt impossibly heavy, weighed down by fear and doubt and…guilt?

She shrugged it all away and pressed the blade against the inside of her arm. The delicate flesh parted like the skin of a ripe plum, and the blood flowed like water. Fast. Faster than she would have thought possible. She frowned. Raised the blade again and slashed the other way. An obscene red  _x_  scored her inner forearm, and Dean looked away with a grimace.

Naomi moved toward her, suddenly alarmed. "That's enough," she said. "Very little blood is needed."

"I was always a giver," Layla said.

She traded the knife off to the other hand but nearly dropped it. She'd cut deep and had trouble with the grip. Her fingers were already slick with blood.

"What are you doing?" Naomi said. "Foolish girl, don't attempt petty power games with me. I can just heal you."

Crowley laughed, a genuine cackle of admiration. "Well played, my dear. Well played indeed."

It didn't hurt. That surprised her. But then Dean took excellent care of his weapons, and the blade was honed to a razor's keen edge. Two more cuts. So simple now that she'd started. The blood was almost pretty. Such a livid shade of crimson, so…vibrant. She'd had lipstick that color once, but it had been too dark for her complexion, and.…

"Layla Bennett!" Naomi roared. "Stop this at once!"

It was the first time the angel had used her name, and it startled her into attention. "What, Naomi?" she said in a bored voice. She held out her arms. Maybe it was the Gates that made the blood flow so fast, those nightmarish portals draining the life from her even as she offered it. "You want your key? Here I am. Stop me."

Dean stepped between them. "You should probably reconsider, Naomi."

"You stay out of this,  _ape_!" A sharp gesture threw him aside, and she charged at Layla, hands outstretched.

"I would listen to the ape," Crowley said.

"Dean, don't let her…the Gates, Dean…the ritual!" Layla gasped.

He struggled to his feet and ran for Naomi, knife raised. They crashed into each other: Naomi into Layla, Dean into Naomi, Dean's knife into Naomi's back.

There was an enormous, eardrum shattering  _boom_  and a flash. Naomi's Grace hit a wall of Layla's power and the angel was sent pinwheeling through the air. She came to a graceless stop against the Gates themselves. The wound in her back seeped and mingled with Layla's blood smeared on her hands.

Dean had landed on top of Layla, and now he shielded her with his body as the world seemed to collapse around them. They could hear a great rending, like a hole being torn in the world, and then the sound of a violent wind. Dean dared a peek over his shoulder just long enough to watch the Gates being sucked into some terrible void. He shuddered and buried his face in Layla's shoulder again.

When the dust settled and the noise stopped he raised his head. "Layla," he said, "Layla, it's over. We've got to get out of here."

She was pale and still.

"No way, kid. Cas will fuckin' kill me." He pressed his head against her chest and was relieved to hear the hitch of breath and the slow thud of her heart. He took a deep breath. "Okay, look. I know I'm free will's number one fan, but this is bullshit. I'm not letting you die here, and not just because of Cas. You're too good for this shit. You can't let Naomi win."

Her dark eyes fluttered open and her mouth curved. "It takes…a long damn…time…to bleed to death," she said.

"No shit. Get off your ass, Bennett. This is fucked up."

"Worst…pep talk…ever."

"Yeah. I suck. You can tell me all about it later. First I'm gonna patch you up, then we're goin' back to Garth's. I've decided nobody on my team's dyin' today."

"Fuck you, Winchester."

"You wish, but the angel saw you first."

She shuddered and gasped. "Dean! Where's Naomi?"

He grasped her hand and held it hard. "Gone. I think she got sucked in with the Gates. Don't worry about her. I gotta find a bandage or something. The blood—"

She shook her head back and forth. Tears leaked from her eyes. "Just…don't leave me…okay?"

"Stop it," he said, his own voice thick with emotion. "Remember what I said? No dying."

"Then why…?" She had to stop to catch her breath. Swallow. "Bandaging. Not bandaging. Too late."

"It's not—" His head went up. "Fuck," he said.

Cas was back, and despite Sam and Garth's efforts to restrain him, the angel was making a beeline straight for them.

And he did not look happy.

* * *

"Cas, no, you can't touch her!" Dean grabbed him as he tried to rush past. "Cas, stop! Angel-key thing, remember? Just stop!"

"No! No, Dean. I don't accept this." He pushed his friend away and ran to her. She was so pale, a moonlit phantom with huge dark eyes. Her breath came in fits and starts as the blood drained away and her body, starving for oxygen, struggled for it. He knew he couldn't heal her. He was afraid to even touch her. He had never felt so helpless in the eternity of his existence.

He knelt beside her, heedless of the blood, and stared into her face. Recognition flickered there, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile. "Cas…" she whispered.

"This is unacceptable, Layla," he said.

"Too…damn…late."

"No," he said. He reached toward her, and she was too weak to move away. "Not this time." There was a flash as his Grace passed through her, and they were thrown again into the same black void he'd zapped them to before.

He struggled to maintain consciousness as the world spun around him. It was so dark he couldn't tell up from down, but finally things steadied. He could make out a flickering light in the distance. The Moirai. He looked down at Layla, and for a moment he thought it was too late. He watched her for what seemed like an eternity until he saw her chest move in an agonizing breath.

He buried his Grace as deeply as he could and lifted her in his arms. She seemed to weigh nothing, and he could barely sense the key's essence within her. She was almost gone. Time was not on their side, and he could only pray the Moirai would be merciful.

The light seemed to appear suddenly, and he almost dropped her in his surprise. The source was a lantern hanging from the branches of a huge tree that stretched into the stygian sky higher than he could see. He could hear water lapping at the shore of a pool nearby, but it was too dark to make out the pool's edge. Three women stood at the tree's roots, but they weren't the Moirai. Not exactly.

"Ahh, so he comes," the middle one said.

"He comes for love, sister," said the youngest.

"He comes for vengeance as much as love," said the eldest. "So much anger, for an angel."

"So much  _love_ , for an angel," said the youngest.

"Please," Cas said. He held Layla's prone form out to them like an offering. Blood fell from her arms in sluggish rusty droplets to soak greedily into the tree's roots. "Please, help her. I'll give you anything."

The youngest looked regretful. The middle one snorted. The eldest dismissed him with a wave of her shears. "There's nothing you have that we want, angel," she said.

The middle one held out a coppery thread. Measured it against a rod she wore at her waist. "There's her measure," she said. She frowned. "Pesky bit, though." She turned the thread this way and that, and Cas thought he could detect the glint of gold in the lantern's shifting light.

"Ahhh," said the youngest. "You see? Love. Let's see  _his_  thread."

"She is your key!" Cas said. "She gave up everything for you! You didn't want the Gates closed. She didn't close them. You wanted them sent back to Hell. She helped make that happen. You wanted the key's power ended. She sacrificed herself to end it. Now you would snip her thread as though it were nothing? As though  _she_  were nothing?!"

The eldest sniffed. "It is our job, angel, as you well know."

"Still, though, the lad has a point," said the middle.

"Not you, too?" said the eldest.

"She was a good girl. Perhaps she deserves a chance."

"The pool, sister. What would it hurt?" said the youngest.

The eldest snapped her shears in irritation. "He would not do it."

"I told you!" he said. "I would do anything!"

"Ahhh, lovelorn angel," said the youngest, "this is not your battle to fight."

The middle sister stepped forward. "Give her to me."

"No," Cas said. "Whatever it is, I will take her. Please. Please."

The sisters drew a deep sigh as one and let it out slowly. The tree's leaves shook as from a mighty wind. "The pool," said the eldest.

As though summoned by her words, an eldritch light appeared above the water's surface. Cas, normally immune to the uncanny, shivered. The water was limned in frost and black. As black as he had ever seen. "What…what about it?"

"Put her in, angel," said the middle sister. "If she lives, she lives. If she does not…she does not."

He stared at her. "She's barely even breathing. How could she possibly survive that?"

"It is a test, Castiel," said the youngest, her voice gentle with compassion, terrible with it. "She must pass or fail as she will."

"I can't," he said, near tears. "I can't do that to her."

"Then she dies," said the eldest, her shears closing around the copper thread.

"No! Stop!" He took a long breath and held it. Finally, "This is the only way?"

"It is not easy to change someone's Fate, angel, even for us," said the middle sister.

"You spoke true," the eldest said. "She has done much that we have asked of her. Made many sacrifices. Let it never be said that we are ungrateful."

Cas stared down at her with hooded eyes, but at last he looked up at the sisters and nodded. "Very well." He took two steps. Hesitated. Closed his eyes and held her against his chest for several long heartbeats. "Layla," he whispered into her hair, "if you can hear me, please. I hope this is the right choice."

"Her thread dims, angel," the youngest said. "You must hurry."

He swallowed. Took another step. The water lapped at his shoes. He stepped in up to his ankles and froze. It was…so…cold.  _Cold_  was too small a word. Arctic. Frigid.  _Bitter_. He was an angel. He didn't feel extremes of heat and cold. How would she possibly…?

"Release her, Castiel," they said, their voices joining into one. "The test is not yours. The Well of Uror is not meant for you."

Barely able to move, his mind turning sluggish as the cold seeped up from his legs and through him, he lowered his arms and let her go. Her body floated away from him, and she seemed to glow in the strange light. Her hair fanned out around her, and he watched the brown dye wash away as though it had never been. Her eyes flew open. Her hand reached for him, and her mouth started to form his name as she was sucked beneath the water's still, inky surface.


	16. Vigil

**All your questions can be answered, if that is what you want. But once you learn your answers, you can never unlearn them.**  
Neil Gaiman, _American Gods_

"Sorry, Dean," Garth said. "We tried to stop him. That guy is  _strong_!"

"He's an angel, Garth. Of course he's strong." Dean frowned. Shook his head. "It's okay, man. I know you did your best. I was just hoping.…"

"She's the one we should've stopped," Sam said. "Suicide? What kind of plan is that?"

"I don't know, Sammy. I sold myself to the crossroads demon for you. You threw yourself into the cage to save the world."

"Kevin's mom would've fought that entire horde of demons  _and_  that battalion of angels if it meant keeping her son safe," Garth said.

"There are other rituals out there. Other tablets," said Dean.

"The key is a tool," Sam said. "Who knows what she could be made to do against her will." He grimaced. "Yeah, I guess I see her point. Doesn't mean I like it."

"That's unanimous," Garth said.

"So where did they go?" Dean said. "And if Cas can't heal her, why would he zap her off somewhere?"

"Maybe he just wanted a few minutes alone with her," Garth said. "You know, like her last moments?"

"No," Dean said. "He was a man with a plan. Not much of a plan, but a plan."

"Hey," Garth said, "Hey! Holy crap, you guys, look!"

The brothers followed his pointing arm, and they almost couldn't believe what they were seeing. "Is that—?"

"No way," Dean said. "You didn't see her, man. She was  _gone_ , like…one foot in it gone. Cas can't heal her. There's no way."

"She looks okay to me," Garth said.

"Cas kinda looks like he might throw up," Sam said.

"Can angels throw up?" said Dean.

"I think we might find out," said Garth.

* * *

Five days. There was no sun or moon in the sky with which to mark the time, but Castiel was an angel, and angels are attuned to all the bodies in the heavens. He knew each sunrise and sunset. He knew every hour, every minute, every second that passed from the moment he saw her slide beneath the water's surface.

He sat and watched. He didn't move. He barely dared to breathe. The Norns went about their business as though he weren't there, drawing water from the Well to feed the tree; spinning, measuring, and snipping the threads of Fate; muttering and clucking to each other like a trio of hens.

On the third day the youngest stopped on her trip to the pool. She stood a moment and watched with him. "A proper vigil this is shaping into, angel."

He said nothing. She smiled a secret smile and moved on.

On the fourth day it was the middle sister. "You cannot save her by watching, young Castiel," she said.

His brows drew together over stormy indigo eyes.

"Ah well," she said. "The heart will do as it will."

On the fifth day the eldest paused next to him, and he felt a chill of foreboding, unfamiliar and unwelcome, shiver through him. "The water is restless today," she said.

His head swiveled toward her, creaky on its neglected hinge. "Does that mean something, grandmother?"

Her shoulders hitched. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see." She poked him with a bony finger. "Do not falter in your vigil, angel. Your penance, her penance; it is all as one."

"Her penance? What penance does she—?"

But his question was cut off as the Well suddenly stirred to life. The crone cackled and backed away. "You see? Restless!"

Castiel surged to his feet and took a step forward. The water rippled. Sloshed as in a tub disturbed by a giant's hand. A wind sprang up, and there was a great black wave, cold as death, and on it floated a tiny white form. He watched in helpless horror as she bobbed in the churning, violent current, and the wind snatched the sound of her name from his lips and flung it into the void.

He would summon his wings. He would go to her…but his Grace was sluggish to respond, buried in his vigil and now a tiny spark that would take too long to fan into a flame. He watched from the shore, helpless, and clung to the only thing he could: the crone's last words to him. He didn't let his vigil falter. He didn't lose sight of her even as the wind buffeted him and the icy spray stung like a thousand slicing razors.

Gradually the storm subsided. He was left sodden and panting, bedraggled and aching, and the only thing that kept him on his feet was the sight of her floating closer. With each lap of the diminishing waves, the current brought her body nearer to shore. Nearer to him. There was one last surge and she was deposited at his feet, as neatly as a care package, dry and perfect.

He gaped down at her and took stock. Dry. How could she possibly be dry? Her clothing was different. Instead of the jeans and sweater she'd been wearing when he'd dropped her in, she now wore a simple sheer white shift, gathered at the waist with a silver girdle. Her wrists were encircled with thin, glowing silver bracelets. Her feet were bare. Her skin was pale, white as swan's feathers, and her hair shone against it like copper fire.

She stirred and he knelt next to her. "Layla?" he breathed.

Her eyes fluttered open, and when she moved he saw that what he'd taken for bracelets were actually chains. Silver chains as fine as spider silk. They glimmered for a moment in the pool's unearthly light before they disappeared, absorbed into her skin in the form of two crisscrossing scars on the inside of each arm. Old scars, he thought, not fresh wounds as they should be. A side effect of the pool?

He spun toward the Norns, and his Grace flared within him. "What is this?" he said. "What have you done to her?"

"We?" said the eldest. "We have done nothing. You asked that she be saved. Here she is."

"Castiel?" she whispered.

"I'm here, Layla." He hesitated a moment, but he couldn't sense the key within her. He touched her face with light fingers, but there was no violent spark.

Her smile was hazy. "The key is gone," she said.

"I see," he said. "Can you stand?"

"I think so." He helped her, and she was shaky, but she managed to keep her feet. "What happened?"

"I was going to ask you," he said. "Do you remember the pool?"

She glanced back toward it, and her eyes were troubled. "The Well. Yes." She hesitated and her dark eyes sought his. "It's part of me now."

"What do you mean?"

"The price," said the middle sister. "Everything has a price, angel."

He studied Layla with a desperate, seeking gaze. Shook his head and turned to the women. "I don't understand! Please. What price?"

"Her penance," the youngest said, taking pity on him. "Life is a gift, angel. She would have squandered that gift. Now she must pay the price for seeking the Well of Uror."

"She is something…more than she was," said the middle sister.

"And perhaps a bit less, depending on your view," said the eldest. She held up Layla's thread. It still glinted copper, but now it had a core of silver. "An immortal daughter of Uror now, for good or ill. A Maiden of the Well."

That got Layla's attention. Her head swiveled. "Maiden? Er, I'm not.…This is awkward. No one told me I was signing up for an endless lifetime of celibacy."

The youngest giggled and the middle one waved it away. The eldest was unamused. "Merely a title these days," she said in a testy voice. "Impossible to find a maiden unless you raise one from scratch, and who wants to go to such trouble?"

"I'm still unclear," Cas said. "You're bound to the Well now? With chains?"

"Yes," she said.

"Forever?!"

"Yes."

She sounded so calm. He was ready to tear at his hair, and she just stared at him, unflappable and cool. " _Here_?" he said.

"Oh!" She smiled. "No. Not here. Only here if I'm needed. If the Well is threatened or something happens. Otherwise the chains are really just a…a mark, I guess."

"So we can go? Now? Back…?"

"Yes," she said. "We can go."

"You should not leave so soon, daughter," the middle sister said. "There are things you have yet to learn."

Layla turned to them, her expression a storm. "I've learned all I care to, thank you. You have the power to bring me back here if you must, but for now I think I'll be going."

The eldest croaked out a laugh. "As you will, prickly child." She waved a hand and Cas was gone. "But spare us a moment, if you might."

She looked sullen. "Yes?" she said.

"You did not tell your angel the entire truth, sister," the youngest said.

"The entire truth seldom did anyone any good," said Layla.

"He will ask, daughter," said the middle.

"If he does, I will tell him."

"Will you, child?" said the eldest.

"Enough!" She ran her hands back through her hair in a frustrated gesture. "Ladies, please. Leave me something. You've bound me with chains and curbed my will. Is that not enough for you?"

The three shared a fathomless look. "Very well," they said as one. "Go, then. We will call when we have need of you."

"Of that I have no doubt."

There was a pause. Another three-way glance. Then, again speaking as one, "Know this: we are not without our mercy. A gift we give you, a gift in exchange for the heavy price exacted by the Well. Have a care, sister-daughter-child. The angel that calls itself Naomi lives. It will hunt you and those you love. It will not stop."

"Wait, what? Naomi is alive? How—?"

A moment later she was back with Cas on the empty Nevada plain, and the moon was huge and bright in the night sky. She shivered as the desert wind passed through her thin gown like it was nothing, and he offered her his overcoat and took her hand. She accepted both, and together they started to walk.

Her steps dragged, and he thought the rough dirt hurt her feet. He offered to carry her, but she shook her head. "It isn't that," she said. "Castiel, I have something to tell you. You aren't going to like it."

He brushed her hair back from her face and noticed, for the first time, that it was much longer than it had been before she went into the pool. Down nearly to her waist now, when before it had been only to her shoulders. Curious. How long…?

"Layla," he said, his head tilted as he studied her, "how long were you gone?"

Her eyes jumped away. Back. "That isn't what I want to talk about, Castiel. Not yet."

"Okay," he said. "What is it, then?"

The thread of his Fate was lapis, the color of his eyes in sunlight, twined with gold because he was an angel, and glinting copper because…well. Because.

She took a deep breath. "It's about Naomi."


	17. Not Yet

**And all of those memories come rushing like feral waves to your mind  
****Of the curl of your bodies, like two perfect circles entwined.**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "Sometime Around Midnight"

 **If lay here,  
****If I just lay here,**  
**Would you lie with me and just forget the world?**  
Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars"

They stood facing each other in the small room, the space full to bursting with things unsaid, and each felt suddenly awkward. Layla cast about for something to say. Cas frowned. Shoved his hands into his pants pockets and pulled them out again.

"Is this all right?" he said. "We can go somewhere—"

"No, Castiel," she said. "It's more than suitable. Thank you." She fiddled with the cuffs on his coat and wondered what to do next.

"Should I get my own room?" he said.

Her eyes went wide. "No! Please!" She shook her head. Touched her temple and her expression shifted. "Unless you would like to get your own room. But I would rather you stayed. Here. With me."

"I would like to stay."

"Good," she said. "Good. Thank you."

He studied her through hooded eyes. Her voice was different. The cadence. The intonations. Even her vocabulary. For him it had been five days, but for her…?

"I should give this back to you," she said. "I know you miss it."

Had she gained the ability to read minds while under the water? He blinked at her, nonplussed, and realized she meant his coat. She held it out to him with a little smile and he took it from her. He didn't know what to do with it. It felt foolish to put it back on indoors, but what did one do with a coat when one wasn't wearing it? It was a problem he had never faced before.

"You can hang it just there," she said and pointed. "There's a coatrack by the door."

"Ah," he said. He turned away, and when he turned back she was unfastening the silver girdle around her waist. The simple diaphanous shift now fell straight from her shoulders to the floor, but it was no less sheer for being slightly less fitted. He swallowed and looked away.

"Castiel? Is something wrong?"

He hesitated. "Why do you call me that?"

Her brows flicked toward her hairline. "It's your name."

"No," he said. "It's not.…" He made a frustrated gesture. "You never called me that before. It's not the name I gave you that day in the snow. The day I kissed you."

Her hand flitted to her temple again and her eyes took on a far away look. "That was…I remember that day. It started snowing. You kissed me, and you told me your friends call you  _Cas_." She looked up at him and frowned. "Jesus, Cas, why the hell are you standing way over there?"

It was the first time she'd sounded like the Layla he remembered since he'd pulled her out of that damn pool. He took one surging step toward her and had her in his arms before either of them could take another breath. He crushed his mouth against hers and she tangled her fingers in his hair.

"Layla," he murmured, a heated whisper against her skin. "Layla, where were you? Where did you go?"

She pressed her forehead against his and held his face in her hands. "Don't ask me that now, Cas. Just be kissing me. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His lips were on hers again almost before she'd finished speaking. She shoved the jacket from his shoulders. He pulled the white gown up her legs and pushed her toward the table. She ripped his shirt open and ran her nails down his chest, a quick, sharp branding. His hands were everywhere: hard and almost bruising as he lifted her onto the table and held her hips; digging sharply into soft skin when he gripped her thighs, rucked the thin material higher, and pulled her closer as she fumbled with his belt.

She wrapped one leg around his waist and twined her arms around his shoulders. He watched her face, the one face he could read without fail, and her eyes told him what he needed to know. He thrust into her, hard and deep, and her back arched away from him. Her head fell back.

"Look at me, Layla," he said, a low and guttural command.

Her head snapped up and she was back. Cheeks flushed and eyes wide, copper hair a corona. She smiled, catlike and sensual, and pressed herself closer.

He let out a growl and the gown she wore parted like paper. His clothes disappeared with a thought, and it was just skin against skin, her skin and his, and she lowered her head to bite his shoulder. He pressed fevered, open mouthed kisses against the side of her neck. The world spun (metaphorically). Lightbulbs shattered (literally). Plaster cracked (also literally). The cheap table gave way beneath them, but he cradled her as they fell, and they came together in a rain of sparks and dust and particleboard.

When he'd gathered his wits enough to think straight, he lifted his face from the graceful curve of her shoulder and studied her with a concerned frown. "Are you all right? Are you…hurt?"

"Hmm?" she said. Her wits were still a bit scattered. "Um. Maybe a little. But in a good way."

He grimaced. "It was not my intention—"

"It was just rough sex, Cas, not the end of the world." She shifted. "Ow."

He pulled away. "Did I—?"

"No, that was…table, I think." She looked around. "We broke the table."

"Yes," he said, tone grave.

"And the walls."

"Yes."

"Um. And the lights."

He swallowed. Cleared his throat. "Yes."

She eyed him. "Does this happen to you a lot?"

"This situation is completely outside my experience."

"You've never had crazy sex in a motel room and broken stuff before? Seriously? I'd think angel sex would break things kinda often. You guys are.…" She shrugged. "You break things sometimes."

He stared at her. He wasn't sure what to do with the last statement, the implications of it, so he left it alone. It was the first bit that startled him. "Layla, you know you're the only…you know I've never.…" He cleared his throat again and looked away. "There was no one else before you, Layla, you know that."

Now it was her turn to stare. She shifted on the broken bits of table again. He frowned and there was a rustle of wings as he moved them to the bed.

"Eep!" she said, or something like it. "You're going to make me lazy if you don't start letting me walk places, Castiel."

There it was again, he thought with a puzzled scowl. The new Layla. The formal one. "I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't seem comfortable."

Her mouth quirked and his Layla was back. "I did have table parts digging in to some delicate areas. Good call."

She bit her lip. Sat up and cast her arms around her knees. "Angels are very patient," she said.

"At times," he said and wondered where she was going.

"Cas…" She glanced around at him, a quick, furtive look from behind the cascade of hair she'd pulled over her shoulder. "Did you wait…the whole time? There? At the pool?"

What a puzzle this woman was. He leaned toward her and ran a hand down the smooth white curve of her back. She made a low noise, almost like a purr. He liked it. He sat up and pulled her against his chest. Kissed her shoulders and nuzzled the back of her neck. "Where else would I go?"

"I don't know," she said. "Raking around with Dean and Sam. Grabbing a burger. Finding more girls whose lives need the Castiel magic touch."

"Layla, don't be foolish. Your life is the only one I desire to touch. Your life…your skin…your—"

"Cas!" She giggled and swatted the thigh that was now pressed against hers. "Was that a joke? Really?"

"No," he said. "I was being entirely serious." He sighed. "I don't truly need to eat, as you well know, and I thought Dean and Sam would be fine without me for a few days. As it turned out, time moved far differently where we were, so they didn't have to muddle through after all."

She went still. "Days?"

"Yes," he said. "Of course there was no sun or moon there, but angels have an innate sense of time. I waited for you for five days."

"Oh," she said, a tiny exhalation.

"I would have waited forever, Layla. I brought you there. I dropped you in. I would have stood vigil until the pool dried up and there was nothing left."

She twisted in his arms and pressed her face against the hollow of his throat. He felt wetness land on his skin and realized she was crying.

For him it had been five days. For her…? Her scars were old. Her hair was long. Her eyes…the way she spoke…how long had she been gone? "How long were you gone?" he said. "If I waited five days, but they thought we were gone five minutes, how long were  _you_  gone?"

"Not yet," she said.

"When?" he said, cupping her tear-streaked face in his hands. "When, Layla?"

She shifted against him, and he felt a stirring that he wasn't sure was entirely appropriate for the moment. But she smiled through her tears and leaned closer. Kissed him long and deep and slow.

"Ask me again after," she said.

* * *

He did want to ask her. He was burning to know. But the subject upset her so much, and he felt so content.…

They were curled together, limbs entwined, and he thought he'd never felt so human. Heavy and lazy and sated, like a fat and happy bumblebee. He ran a thoughtful finger down her arm and she shivered.

"Your scent is different," he said.

She let out a little sigh. "Good different or bad different?" she said in a sleepy voice.

"Just changed," he said. "It's colder now."

That got her attention. She raised her head and blinked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Colder?" She considered. Looked away. "The pool was cold. Always cold."

"I know," he said, voice soft. "I'm sorry."

Her gaze snapped back to him, alert and focused. "It's not your fault. I made a choice, Cas. I could have died. Instead I chose to stay there and become…this. I wanted it."

"Why?" he said.

She smiled. "Silly angel. Isn't it obvious? I couldn't let you just bumble along without me. Look at all the messes you got yourself into before you met me." She kissed him soft and sweet. Nipped his lower lip with her teeth as she pulled away. "Besides, the sex is  _amazing_. What girl could pass that up?"

He looked startled. Cleared his throat. "I feel that I have much to learn."

"What you might lack in learned technique you more than make up for in natural ability and enthusiasm," she said with a grave expression that soon dissolved into a grin.

"I suppose now that you're immortal, you have plenty of time to teach me. And we have plenty of time to practice."

Her eyes went wide. "Why, Castiel, did you just  _proposition_  me?"

His brow furrowed. "Perhaps."

"Ha!" she said and kissed him again.

He pulled away and studied her. His head tilted.

"What's wrong?"

"Your taste has changed as well."

"I have been marinating in the Well of Uror for a while. I guess it's bound to change a girl." Her mouth twisted. "Changed bad?"

"Again, no." He hesitated. "You used to taste of honey. I suppose I will miss that. Somewhat."

She eyed him. "You could always go get some honey. Douse me in it."

His face went through a series of transformations as he considered it. There was a rustle of wings.

"Cas! Holy shit, I was just  _kidding_!"

* * *

He lapped the last of the sweet golden fluid from her skin and they both fell back, panting and exhausted. She let out a gasping laugh and his head lolled to fix her with dazed blue eyes.

"Well that was…sticky," she said once she had the breath.

He nodded.

"What's the matter, angel? Too much honey in the tummy?"

He shook his head.

She laughed. Poked ruefully at the bed. "These sheets will never be the same."

He waved a hand and they were pristine. She chuckled again. "Handy. Can you do the same for my hair?"

He ran his fingers around the curve of her skull and her hair smoothed. "Ah, much better. Thanks." She reached across his prone form for the glass of water on the nightstand, but he caught her arm as it entered his field of vision.

"Layla Edith Bennett," he said.

She winced. " _Edith_ ," she said. "Wow. I must be in real trouble."

He traced the silvered crisscrossing scars inside her forearm. "Don't ever do this again, Layla," he said. "I mean it. There is always another way."

She tugged her arm from his grasp and watched him with dark, wary eyes. "I didn't see one."

"Layla—"

"Cas," she said. Her fingers traced his jaw. "Honestly. I wasn't suicidal. I didn't have a death wish. I wanted to live. Why do you think I came back? But look at the facts. Naomi and Crowley both wanted me for their own purposes. There were at least two rituals out there that, if performed, would have forced me to do something against my will with terrible consequences. Not only that, but once the key was awakened within me, you and I couldn't.…"

Her mouth quirked. "Look, I'm not saying sex is everything, but to not even be able to touch you? It would've been awful. Almost as bad as being Naomi or Crowley's lab rat. Even being close to you was headache-inducing. We couldn't have been together, Cas."

"Dying would fix that problem?" he said in a bland tone.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "Duh, of course not, but, come on. If I couldn't choose  _anything_ , if I had to be either the tool of angels or the tool of demons  _and_  I couldn't have my guy?" She shrugged. "I die, no one gets what they want."

"What about me, Layla?" His face twisted. "What about what I wanted?"

She looked away. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I've done terrible things. Rebelled against Heaven. Killed innocent humans. Murdered my brethren. Broke down Sam's wall. Betrayed Dean's faith in me. Unleashed the Leviathan. I've wrestled with my guilt, and I've sought atonement."

Her head turned. His eyes blazed in the dark room.

"Of all the things I've done, nothing has affected me like the sight of you bleeding to death on that plain in Nevada. I thought the things I did before destroyed me. I was wrong. I did not truly understand the word."

She started to speak, but he stopped her.

"I understand why you did it, Layla, but it was selfish. You made the selfish choice."

Her jaw clenched, and when she spoke he knew it was Other Layla, not his Layla. "And you, Castiel? What choice did you make?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you threw an innocent girl into the Well of Uror without asking the price? You sought only to assuage  _your_  pain,  _your_  guilt,  _your_  loneliness! If she made a selfish choice, whom did she hurt? Five people who knew her in passing and one angel who cannot get past his insatiable need to play God. Your selfish choice has altered Fate, Castiel. Again."

"Stop this. Bring her back. You have no right—"

"I am part of her now. She knew this when she emerged from the Well, and she chose not to tell you. This is the choice she made. Layla-self, Norn-self. If she had stayed longer, not fought so hard, she could have learned to control it."

"How long?"

She gasped, blinked, and she was back. "No," she said. "Not yet." She gripped her head. "Not yet."

"Layla—"

"I didn't mean any of those terrible things, Cas. That wasn't me."

"I know," he said. "I know."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"I know that, too." He reached for her. Hesitated just short of touching. "Should I not have done it?"

"I wasn't ready to die, Cas. I told you that."

He nodded, but she could tell from his expression that he was still unsure. She pulled him to her. "Can we just lie here, Cas? Like the night you kissed me in the snow, only without all the awkwardness and the crying?"

He fitted her against him and pressed a kiss against her sweet-scented hair. "Yes," he said. "I would like that."

* * *

The blackout curtains kept most of the sunlight at bay, but bits of it snuck through. The clock had blown with the other lights, and he hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet. The smoke detector had somehow remained intact, and its small steady glow illuminated the ceiling. She stared up at it and listened to the sound of his heart. Wondered why he had a heartbeat. Thought of asking and decided it took too much effort.

They had plenty of time for questions like that.

He had scars on his chest. Strange symbols. She wondered about them, too. She knew he had died and been brought back several times, but she didn't know if the scars came back with him or if he returned with a clean slate. And why  _those_  scars? He'd been hurt plenty before, she'd seen it, but he was completely healed from that.

Five days. That's all it had been for him.

Five days. That's how long it had been for him.

It was an incredibly short and, somehow, an incredibly long time. He was an angel, so for him, to sit by a cold dark pool for five days was as nothing. But still. He'd had no idea it would only be five days…and for her.…

"Cas," she said.

He stirred. He hadn't been asleep, of course, but he had been deep in thought. "Yes?" he said.

"Ask me now."

He didn't seek clarification, but he did…pause. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said. "Ask me now before I change my mind."

He raised up on one elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes flicked to his face and stayed there. "How long were you gone, Layla?"

"Five years, Cas. For Dean and Sam and the others it was five minutes; for you it was five days; for me it was five years." Her lips formed a sardonic curve and she moved so that their eyes were level. "It offered to let me die every day, but every day I said no."

"Why, Layla? I don't understand. Did you know you wouldn't be the key when you got free?"

"I didn't know anything. I  _hoped_  I would get free. I hoped I would be free of the key when I did."

"But you didn't know."

"No."

"So why…?"

"Because I had a reason to fight. Isn't that what you wanted, Cas? When you sought me out, I mean? It's funny, because I'm sure you never expected…but here it is. You waited for me, and I fought to get back to you. It's really that simple."

"You unlocked the heart of an angel," he said.

"Yep."

"A key turns both ways."

"You got it, smarty."

He pulled her to him and kissed her. She let out a soft sigh and rested her head on his chest, right above the steady, mysterious rhythm of his heart.

"You said Naomi is still alive," he said.

"I know."

He toyed with her hair. "Crowley will be very angry."

"I know."

His expression clouded. "You seem to have a burgeoning case of multiple personality disorder."

"Dissociative identity disorder. Yeah, aware of that one, too."

"Still you seem content."

She looked up at him, dark eyes dancing with amusement. "I'm home, Cas. The rest is just details."


End file.
